


Intersections

by dragongirlG



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Normal High School, Attempted Sexual Assault, Bad Parenting, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Crushes, Death Eaters, Deception, F/M, Gen, Identity Porn, Kidnapping, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Minor Character Death, Muggle Life, Muggle/Wizard Relations, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Polyjuice Potion, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Harassment, Teen Romance, The Burrow (Harry Potter), Wizarding Wars (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-05-19
Updated: 2010-04-19
Packaged: 2020-05-29 14:33:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 120,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19402294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragongirlG/pseuds/dragongirlG
Summary: AU. When fifteen-year-olds Harry Potter and Hermione Granger meet at Stonewall High, neither of them expects to discover that they both received a letter four years ago from a magical school called Hogwarts. They begin to search for answers about their powers, and not a moment too soon...Currently on hiatus.





	1. Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally titled "Harry Potter, the Muggle". Chapters 1-6 were posted from 2002-2003, then heavily reworked in 2009. Chapters 7 and all chapters following that were written and posted from 2009-2010.

"Boy! Boy! Wake up, boy!" Vernon Dursley barked outside of his nephew's door. "You won't be making me late for my meeting this morning!"

Fifteen-year-old Harry Potter groaned and rolled over in his bed, feet hitting the cold wooden floor as his uncle barged into the room. Vernon's eyes narrowed as he saw Harry's disheveled state. "Hurry up and get ready for school, boy. I don't want any funny business today, you hear me?"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry muttered, groping around for his glasses on the nightstand as his uncle stomped down the stairs. He wondered just what kind of "funny business" Uncle Vernon was referring to; he repeated the same warning every morning, but Harry had never been able to figure out what he was talking about. He vaguely remembered a couple of strange events in primary school where he'd been punished for "funny business," but it was so long ago that Harry couldn't remember what he'd done. Sighing, Harry decided not to waste any more time thinking about it and rushed to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He pulled on his ratty, dirty grey school uniform, which his aunt had "graciously" made by dyeing his cousin Dudley's old clothes grey. Harry hated wearing the disgusting rags, but it was better than going starkers, and he did get a new dyed uniform every year to account for his height growth. However, the uniform was still several times too wide for his skinny frame.

Running a hand through his uncontrollable black hair, he looked into the mirror and briefly traced the scar that split the middle of his forehead, shivering as he remembered his nightmare from the previous night. It had been the recurring one, with the high-pitched laughter and the bright green flash of light, a bright green that had turned into a darker green, the same color as his eyes, the same color of the ink on those letters all those years ago. Harry felt his chest tighten at the thought of the letters that had blitzed the house just before he had turned eleven. They had come in not only through the post box, but through the window, under the doors, and even in between the milk bottles delivered to the front steps. They were also the only letters he'd ever seen addressed specifically to Harry Potter. If only he'd been smart enough to hide them in his old cupboard when no one was looking – before his aunt and uncle had snatched them away –

"Boy!" Aunt Petunia shrieked, rudely interrupting Harry's musings. "Vernon's almost ready to leave! Eat your breakfast now or you don't get any at all!"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry said under his breath, rolling his eyes. He grabbed a worn backpack from his room and trudged down the stairs half-heartedly, pausing only to glance at the cupboard he had slept in till he was eleven. It had been a stifling space, but also a comforting one – the only place he knew he could be alone. Pity that his bedroom (or as his relatives often reminded him, Dudley's second bedroom) couldn't be the same place of peace.

After gulping down a glass of milk and two meager pieces of toast, Harry pulled on his coat and followed Uncle Vernon to the car. As they passed the identical boxy houses of Little Whinging, Uncle Vernon cleared his throat importantly.

"Boy."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon?" Harry responded dully, already thinking of how miserable he would be at school today.

"Dudley is coming home for the holidays in two weeks. I don't want you to cause him any trouble, understand? No funny business."

There it was again, funny business. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Boy? Did you hear me, you dimwitted fool?" Uncle Vernon was glaring at him from the driver's seat. "I want the holidays to be perfect for Dudley."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry answered for the third time, feeling like a parrot. He groaned softly, thinking of his whale of a cousin. Dudley had tormented him when he was younger, playing games such as Harry Hunting with his rat-faced friend Piers and their cronies Malcolm and Gordon. Harry had often been locked in the cupboard without meals because of things Dudley and his friends had blamed him for, like when Dudley had broken his aunt's favorite vase and other important pieces of china. Harry recalled that the vase had held white lilies, which seemed to float around him in a circle before hitting the floor. When Aunt Petunia had discovered Harry standing amidst the fallen flowers, she had screamed shrilly and shoved Harry into the cupboard as Dudley laughed and pointed.

The car pulled to a stop in front of Stonewall High. True to its name, the ugly rectangular buildings were made entirely out of grey, lifeless stone. Harry looked at them with dread.

"Get out of the car, boy!" Uncle Vernon barked, and Harry started, obeying him automatically. He watched as the car sped off, Uncle Vernon muttering darkly about "dallying twits" and "ungrateful brats," and rolled his eyes as he slowly walked up the front steps of the school, bracing himself for another torturous day.

Harry sat in the back row of his form room, watching his classmates file in discussing their holiday plans. He heard excited chatter of visiting relatives, family vacations to the coast, and Christmas dinners, and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach as he thought of Dudley living in the house again. Even as a teenager, Dudley still bullied Harry whenever he could. Although Harry didn't enjoy attending Stonewall High, he was grateful that he did not have to share a school or a house with his cousin for most of the year. He didn't think he'd be able to bear being around Dudley for such a long time.

As the teacher began taking attendance, Harry began to daydream of a life without Dursleys. He had been doing well in his lessons this year, trying to get good marks on the GCSEs so that he could take A-levels and ultimately attend university. A university degree would let him get a decent-paying job, which would give him enough money to afford his own flat. He knew that the Dursleys would kick him out of the house as soon as he turned eighteen, if not sooner, so he planned to use the time he had preparing for the exams as much as he could. Oftentimes his aunt would interrupt his studies and demand that he do housework, but Harry stayed up late at night studying to compensate for the lost time.

"Mr. Potter. Mr. Potter. MR. POTTER!"

Harry blinked and jerked a little, face reddening as his classmates stared and snickered at him.

"Mr. Potter, this is the fifth time I have called your name. Please pay attention to the attendance so that I do not waste everyone's precious time." The form teacher, Mrs. Garbet, looked down at him severely. She had gray hair pulled into a strict bun and a slightly wrinkled face.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry mumbled, staring down at his desk as the snickering grew louder.

"Look at me when I am speaking to you, Mr. Potter. And quiet," Mrs. Garbet snapped. The classroom immediately became silent. She finished taking roll and clapped her hands to get everyone's attention. "We have a new student joining our class today. Her name is Hermione Granger. Everyone, please welcome Ms. Granger to Stonewall." Mrs. Garbet clapped her hands, and a toothy brunette girl with bushy hair stepped out from the corner nervously. Some of Harry's classmates applauded without much enthusiasm, exchanging confused glances. It was unusual for a student to transfer in the middle of the term, especially so close to the end of the marking period.

"Ms. Granger, please take a seat next to Mr. Potter in the back row."

Harry looked up, startled that Mrs. Garbet would willingly place anyone next to him, but then realized that the seat next to him was the only seat available. His classmates snickered and gave Hermione pitying looks as she walked through the aisles toward him.

"Hello," she said softly as she put her books onto the desk, pushing her bushy hair back over her shoulder. "I'm Hermione." She smiled at him, adjusting her trim, neat, and new uniform as she sat down.

"Er, hi," Harry responded. It had been a long time since anyone had said spoken to him besides his teachers. "I'm Harry." He looked away, embarrassed about the state of his clothing. Mrs. Garbet was saying something about an assembly tomorrow, and Hermione straightened up, listening attentively. The bell rang for the next lesson, and Harry stood up quickly to hurry to maths.

"Wait – Harry." Harry felt a light tap on his shoulder, and he whipped around.

"Sorry," said Hermione, looking just as startled as Harry felt, "I was wondering if you could show me where my next lesson would be. Everybody else left before I could ask them, you see." She gestured; the classroom was indeed empty.

"Where is it?" Harry asked reluctantly. His maths class was in another building, and the good seats in the back row would be taken soon. Although he rather liked maths and the maths teacher, he preferred not to draw attention to himself during lessons.

"It's in another building – it's the maths set 1 lesson," she explained quickly. "I'm not sure wh–"

"That's great!" Harry said, cutting her off. "I have the same lesson. We'd better hurry, otherwise we'll be late. We only have ten minutes to spare." He rushed out the door, Hermione running behind him. Harry's baggy clothes flapped around him as if he was a bird. For a brief moment, he felt like he was flying.

They made it to the classroom with five minutes to spare. Harry slunk down into his favorite seat in the back row, and Hermione sat down next to him.

"Thanks, Harry!" she exclaimed rather loudly, causing several of their classmates to turn around and gape openly.

Harry started and looked at her. Her cheeks were red from running, and she was smiling happily. "You're welcome." He smiled hesitantly. "The school is a little bit confusing. I got lost here on the first day." Harry couldn't believe it. Was he really about to make a new friend? He'd never had friends in primary school because of Dudley, and by the time he'd started attending Stonewall High, Dudley had already done too much damage. Plus, his old, oversized clothes and disheveled appearance drove off people right away.

"You would get lost, Potter, you runty twit," someone said nastily at the front of the classroom. Harry looked up and saw Dudley's old mate Piers Polkiss sneering at him through a curly brown fringe. His eyes were small and his nose was narrowed; he looked very much like a rat.

"Sod off, Polkiss," Harry retorted, flushing. Some of his classmates tittered.

"Is little Harry scared he's going to lose his new girlfriend?" Polkiss taunted. He stood up, tall and weedy, and began walking down the aisle toward Harry's seat. He looked Hermione up and down, then whistled appreciatively. "I wouldn't mind getting into her knickers."

Hermione flushed. "Get away from me, you pig," she hissed, glowering fiercely.

"Feisty tart, isn't she?" Polkiss leered at Hermione. "I do like girls with a little…fight. Perhaps you and I could take this to the lavatory, love?" He reached one lanky arm out to stroke Hermione's hair.

Harry stood up so quickly that he didn't even realize what had happened, grabbing Polkiss' outstretched arm and placing himself in front of Hermione. "I said, _get away from her_ , Polkiss," he snarled, reaching out and pushing Polkiss backward onto the floor. Several people gasped around them.

Snarling, Polkiss stood up and lunged toward Harry, grabbing him by his loose collar. Harry's shirt ripped and almost slid off as Polkiss lifted him in the air. In the background, Hermione cried out, "Stop!"

"Put me down, Polkiss," Harry gasped dizzily, reaching behind himself and grabbing onto a desk.

"What's the matter, Potter?" Polkiss laughed. "Feeling a little out-of-breath?" He shook Harry a little; Harry heard his shirt tear even more. "A little dizzy? I hope you haven't forgotten how much _fun_ we used to have playing Harry Hunting. I'll remind you in case you don't remember." Polkiss pulled his arm back as if he were about to punch Harry.

"Mr. Polkiss!" a deep voice thundered at the front of the classroom. "Please take your seat immediately!"

Harry had never been so grateful to his maths teacher, Mr. Rowle, a large, bald black man who stood glaring at them from the front of the classroom. Polkiss scowled and dropped Harry roughly into his seat, knocking Harry's maths book onto the floor in the process. Hermione, looking frightened, quickly picked it up and handed it to Harry.

"Mr. Polkiss, we do not manhandle our classmates. Is that understood?" roared Mr. Rowle with a very sharp tone.

"Yes, sir," Polkiss answered sullenly.

"Good," Mr. Rowle said. "Now, everyone, please turn your book to page 284." He waited until the rustling of pages had died down. "I trust you have all completed last night's homework. Ms. Balim, please put the answer to number one on the board. Mr. Cramer, number two. Mr. Faye, number three…"

After maths lessons, Harry ran to the toilet and pulled out the roll of tape he kept in his backpack. He used to use it for his glasses, which constantly broke in half until his aunt had decided to buy him a new pair upon the school's suggestion. He quickly pulled off some strips of tape and began placing it on the inside of his shirt, fruitlessly trying to tape the ripped portions together. Perhaps if he wore his coat all day, nobody would notice the tear – but students weren't allowed to wear coats during lessons. Looking despondently at himself in the mirror, Harry decided he'd just have to ask Aunt Petunia to buy him a new set of clothing for once. A ripped shirt was unacceptable even by her neglectful standards.

Opening the door, he jumped slightly at the sight of Hermione, who was standing outside of the toilet clutching her maths book tightly to her chest.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, more rudely than he intended.

"I just wanted to say thank you," said Hermione, with a note of apprehension in her voice, "for – defending me." She smiled at him, uncertainly.

"You're welcome," Harry answered, running a hand through his hair nervously. No one had ever thanked him before. It felt…bizarre.

"What's your next subject?" Hermione asked. "Mine is English literature. I think it's just behind the corridor."

"Yeah, it should be," Harry said, feeling slightly put out. "I don't have English literature right now – I have biology. It's actually in the main building, so I've got to run."

"Oh, all right," Hermione said, looking a little disappointed. "Well – bye then, Harry. Maybe I'll see you during the break. Or – how about lunch? In the form room?"

"Yeah," Harry said, his mouth suddenly dry. "Yeah, that'd be nice."

Hermione smiled and turned around. Harry watched her disappear around the corner, a strange, new warm feeling in his chest.

* * *

Hermione sat down in her English literature lesson, breathing a sigh of relief when she didn't see Polkiss in the same room. A group of girls near the back seemed to be staring at her, whispering to each other occasionally and sniggering quietly. Hermione She sighed. Had she already made enemies on her first day? She'd noticed that Harry was an outcast among his classmates, but she couldn't understand why. Although he dressed rather shabbily, he seemed like a nice, smart, and helpful person who was willing to be her friend. Taking out a notebook and a few pens, she tapped a pen back and forth to distract herself, noticing that there were still six minutes before lessons began.

"Hi," said a voice next to her. Hermione turned her head and saw a blonde girl with pale blue eyes smiling at her. "You're Harry Potter's friend, aren't you?" the girl asked boldly.

"Yes," Hermione said, holding out her hand. "I'm Hermione Granger."

The girl shook it firmly. "My name's Katharine Balim," she said. "I saw you in maths class and thought I'd introduce myself. You're new here?"

Hermione nodded. "I just came here from the city."

Katharine's eyes widened. "The city! That's...What brings you to Stonewall?"

Hermione was about to answer, but another voice interrupted her.

"Good morning, class."

"Good morning, Mrs. Boyd," the class answered in unison, except for Hermione.

"Ah! What's this? A new student?" Mrs. Boyd exclaimed in a strong Scottish accent, coming down the aisle toward Hermione.

"Yes, ma'am," said Hermione, standing and feeling rather foolish. "Hermione Granger."

"Welcome to our lessons, Hermione," Mrs. Boyd smiled kindly. "And do sit down. If I may ask – is that the same name 'Hermione' from Shakespeare's _A Winter's Tale_?"

"Yes, ma'am." Hermione flushed, lowering herself into her seat.

"How lovely!" Mrs. Boyd exclaimed, peering at Hermione over her large black spectacles. "That is quite a coincidence, because today," she announced to the rest of the class, "we will be studying Shakespeare."

Several people groaned in response.

Mrs. Boyd continued, "Shakespeare's sonnets encompass several emotions, but a large part of them explore the emotions associated with love. We are going to begin with a rather bittersweet sonnet, number 88. Everybody, please turn your books to page 182. Hermione, please read the sonnet out loud to the class."

Hermione hadn't expected to be called upon so soon, but she read the sonnet dutifully. After she had finished, Mrs. Boyd looked around expectantly. "Now, who believes they know what the sonnet was about?"

A few people raised their hands.

"Yes, Sara?" Mrs. Boyd asked an Oriental girl with a stream of long black hair.

"It's about being abandoned by the one you love," Sara answered, tossing her head as she spoke.

"Yes, but what else is it about?"

Hermione raised her hand, and Mrs. Boyd nodded toward her. "It's about having your lover abandon you, and you being all right with it," Hermione said.

"And why would you be all right with it?" asked Mrs. Boyd. "Yes, Katharine."

"Because…" Katharine said slowly, her eyes scanning the text. "Your lover will get glory from abandoning you, as the poem states. Any glory – that is, any benefit to the lover is also a benefit to yourself."

"That's correct," Mrs. Boyd said, and Katharine beamed. "Shakespeare is describing love as an intricate intertwining of two lives. The conflicting premise is that even while you are hurting yourself, you are also making yourself happy because you are making the other person happy."

"Then love is both selfish and selfless," a boy toward the back said, smirking as he added, "it's both pain and pleasure."

"That is correct, Thomas," Mrs. Boyd responded, ignoring the giggling that spread across the room. "It seems that in love, good for yourself and good for your lover are two things cannot be separated. Let's see how Shakespeare shows us that, shall we?"

They spent the rest of the lesson analyzing the text, and Mrs. Boyd assigned them two sonnets to read and analyze by the end of the week. Hermione sighed. English was not her best subject, and she would have to work hard in it to score high marks on the GCSE.

After English ended, Katharine asked if Hermione would like to meet some of her friends during the break. Hermione hesitated. She had rather hoped to see Harry again, but she didn't want to miss an opportunity to make more friends. It'd taken her over a year to establish lasting friendships at her old school in the city, but when she finally did, she couldn't have been happier. Her closest friends were Matthew and Cecilia, whom she had befriended over particularly difficult experiment chemistry experiment, while she had met Daniel and Richard at the library after they'd begged to borrow the history book she'd been reading for a project. Tall, proud Daniel loved astronomy more than anything in the world, while musically talented Cecilia always insisted that they sing the songs she composed; Richard was a genius with computers who loved to laugh; and Matthew, whose understanding of the sciences had helped many a classmate the week before exams, was a secret fan of cinema. She missed them all dearly and wished that she were with them now. This new world of Stonewall High was unfamiliar and threatening, totally unlike her previous independent school, where blazers and ties were required every day, bullying was strictly regulated, and horrible, rodent-like boys did not make advances upon her.

"Hermione, are you coming?" Katharine tapped her foot impatiently, her pigtails bouncing with the rhythm.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Hermione nodded and followed Katharine out into the hall. Perhaps she'd see Harry on the way there.

* * *

Harry wandered through the halls during the morning break, hoping to see Hermione on his way to the form room. He had almost reached the room when he tripped over something and fell face-forward toward the ground. Shielding his glasses with one arm, he hit the floor and sat back up as quickly as he could, his books scattering everywhere. Guttural guffaws sounded above him as he looked up into the faces of Piers Polkiss and another boy he didn't know.

"Clumsy as an elephant in ballet shoes, Potter," Polkiss sneered. "Pity your girlfriend wasn't here to see it."

"Shove off, Polkiss," Harry retorted, gathering his books around him and trying to maintain some form of dignity. The tape was coming undone on the inside of his shirt. "And stay away from her, you rat-faced bastard." He stood up, bag and books in hand, and pushed past Polkiss into the form room, ashamed at the sense of relief that washed over him when he saw Mrs. Garbet in the room. At least Polkiss couldn't bother him now.

Harry let out a breath, opening up his Biology book and attempting to read the newest lesson as he unconsciously fiddled with the inside of his shirt. Polkiss hadn't tormented Harry since he'd entered Stonewall in second year, when he'd had been expelled from Smeltings due to a mysterious fight with Dudley. Harry wasn't sure how their friendship had fallen apart, but he was thankful, because Polkiss had left him alone at Stonewall…until now. Harry suspected that the renewed bullying was due to his defense of Hermione in maths. Frowning, he considered whether friendship with the new girl was worth giving up his invisible existence at Stonewall and enduring the same torments he'd undergone during childhood. He had lived without friends for over fourteen years, after all, and he rather liked being invisible because he could always do what he wanted without getting distracted or noticed or bullied.

"Daydreaming again, Mr. Potter?" Mrs. Garbet's sharp voice cut through his thoughts. When Harry looked up, he was surprised to see that she looked almost concerned.

"No, ma'am, just thinking," Harry answered, casting his eyes downward toward his book. He'd barely read a page, and the break was almost over. He wondered where Hermione had gone. Perhaps she had found someone better to spend her time with. Perhaps someone had told her not to be friends with him, had warned her of his reputation as a "strange freak." Scowling, Harry slammed his book shut loudly, waking up the unfortunate souls who had decided to nap in the form room, and headed to his next class.

Hermione was having a hard time keeping up with all of the new people Katharine was introducing to her. They were in the empty dining hall, standing in front of a large group of strangers.

"This is Sara Cheung," said Katharine. Hermione recognized the Chinese girl from English class. "This is Lina Draper" – a girl with dirty blonde curls smiled and waved – "Arianne Ross" – a short-haired brunette looked up from a book and glanced at Hermione – "and her boyfriend, Will Hankley." A stocky blonde boy nodded at Hermione as Katharine took a breath. "Everyone, this is Hermione Granger. She's new from London," Katharine pulled up a chair, gesturing for Hermione to sit down.

"How do you do?" Will asked in a friendly tone.

"All right," said Hermione. "Stonewall's quite different from my old school. I went to an independent called the Witsford School."

A collective "ooooh" went around the table.

"Aren't you a right snob," Arianne teased, placing her book down onto the table. "I'm joking," she said quickly as Will turned to her with a reprimanding look.

Hermione smiled a little, cheered for the first time today. "Well, Stonewall's not so bad," she said with a shrug. "It's a little unusual, is all."

"Have I told you what happened in maths today?" Katharine exclaimed. The rest of the table except for Hermione shook their heads. Katharine grinned and looked at Hermione, then began describing the fight between Polkiss and Harry in great dramatic detail. Hermione flushed redder and redder as she went on.

After Katharine finished, Lina looked at Hermione with wide brown eyes. " _Harry_ _Potter_ defended you?" she asked incredulously, and she shook her head in disbelief, her curls bouncing from side to side. "I'd never have thought…"

"Me neither," said Sara thoughtfully, exchanging a pensive look with Will as Arianne frowned in puzzlement.

"Thought what?" Hermione asked, wondering what exactly she was missing.

"Potter never pays attention to anybody," Sara explained. "You have to call his name loads of times before he'll answer."

"Are you saying he's slow?" Hermione asked, confused.

"He's not slow. He's always daydreaming," Arianne elaborated. "And," she added, "I think he's a bit of a nutter."

"Arianne," Will scolded, and Arianne shrugged defensively. Will turned to Hermione. "He's not a nutter, but he is rather strange. He doesn't have any friends, and he doesn't seem to want any. He hates having anything to do with people."

Hermione was surprised. Harry had been friendly enough towards her, but then again, he was always claiming that he needed to run off the few times they had talked.

"I'm surprised that he responded to Polkiss at all," continued Will, frowning. "People don't often bother Potter, but when they do, he ignores them."

"Well…" said Sara, considering something for a moment. "I heard that in primary school, Polkiss was best friends with Potter's cousin, Dud or Dur-something, and they bullied him like mad."

"Polkiss always said that Potter was a no-good freak," Lina chimed in, nodding enthusiastically and making her curls bounce up and down wildly. "He was in one of my lessons first year."

"Maybe Potter was reacting to some repressed childhood trauma that Polkiss triggered!" Katharine said excitedly.

"Or maybe," Sara continued dryly, "Potter's pent-up rage about his childhood bullying made him explode at Polkiss today."

Katharine frowned for an instant and looked at Hermione sharply. "Perhaps Potter _fancies_ you!"

Everyone's heads swiveled abruptly toward Hermione, who turned red and shook her head vigorously. "I don't think so," she said. "I just met him." Hermione had never considered the possibility, and thinking of it only made her feel embarrassed. She didn't often receive attention from boys, and when she did, she didn't enjoy it.

"Being fancied by Potter. Blech," said Arianne quietly, earning herself another glare from Will.

"It was quite dashing of him to defend your honor," said Lina dreamily. "I wish someone would do that for me." Sara, Will, and Katharine exchanged exasperated looks as Arianne rolled her eyes.

"We had better be heading back," Sara said, standing up, "Break is almost over." She shook Lina gently, who still had a dreamy look upon her face, and asked, ""Will we see you in the dining hall for lunch, Hermione?"

Hermione shook her head. "I told Harry I'd eat with him in the form room," she answered.

"Oh," Lina said, drawing out the word with her breath in a knowing manner.

Sara laughed. "Tomorrow, then."

Nodding, Hermione followed the chattering group back to the main building, chewing her lip thoughtfully as she walked. Did Harry really not want any friends? Would he not show up to eat lunch with her? Had his niceness and helpfulness only been an act? After all, Katharine and her friends had been at Stonewall far longer than Hermione. They would have to know better than she did.

She scowled at the questions running through her mind. The only way to answer them was to wait for Harry in the form room during lunch. If he didn't show up, she could always join her new friends in the dining hall.

The next two hours passed quickly for Hermione. She had physics and history lessons, both of which she enjoyed greatly. Lina was in the same physics lesson, but didn't sit next to Hermione, preferring to sit in the back and giggle softly at a lanky boy with lots of freckles on his face. Hermione was rather thankful that she knew nobody in her history lesson, allowing her to concentrate completely. With some apprehension, she headed in the direction of the form room, and found Harry already there, sitting in the back row and reading a textbook intently. On closer inspection, Hermione found that his eyes were not moving. He was simply staring at the page, seemingly lost in thought.

"Hi, Harry," Hermione said, looking around. Nobody else was in the room. It seemed that the dining hall was the more popular place to have meals.

Harry jerked a little as if he had been woken up. He raised his head, looking surprised. "You came," he said, sounding awed.

"Of course," said Hermione, taking the seat next to him. "I said as much." She pulled out her lunch, made lovingly by her mother: a lettuce, bacon, and tomato sandwich with a dash of mayonnaise, a banana, a bag of crisps, and some shortbread. Harry eyed her lunch with an oddly envious look before taking out a ham and cheese sandwich and a small plum.

"I already ate part of my lunch," Harry said quickly as she cast a dubious glance at his measly meal.

Hermione frowned and nodded, unwilling to pry for now. It was entirely likely that he had, since teenage boys had monstrous appetites. Harry had already wolfed down half of his sandwich by the time she had finished her first bite. They sat in an awkward silence for a while, with chewing and swallowing the only sounds filling the room, as Harry stared at the desk, Hermione watching him until she felt embarrassed enough to look away.

Finally, Hermione waited until Harry had finished his sandwich, and asked, "Have you lived in Surrey your whole life?"

He nodded, raising his eyes to meet hers. Through his round black spectacles, she could see they were a dark, shuttered green. "And you?" he asked, hesitantly. "Did you always live in the city before you came here?"

Hermione nodded, eager to make conversation. "Sometimes my parents and I take trips to France, though."

"Oh," said Harry. "Is it nice there?"

"It's lovely. Have you ever been?"

Harry shook his head. "I've never been anywhere else except for London," he said, "and that was only once." He smiled as if remembering something fondly.

"What was the reason?" Hermione asked.

"It was my cousin's birthday," Harry explained. "He was aggravating a sleeping boa constrictor, and a few minutes later, it escaped somehow. The glass on its cage disappeared – as if by magic." A shiver ran through his body suddenly.

Hermione looked at him, shocked. "Harry, that's really dangerous!" she exclaimed. "A boa constrictor on the loose! What if it ate a small child by accident?"

Harry shrugged, looking a little disappointed. "I thought it was funny," he muttered. "Seeing how scared my cousin was, at the least."

"Weren't you scared?" Hermione knitted her brow.

"No," said Harry. "This one wasn't big enough to eat babies, much less a ten-year-old like me." He smiled again, but it was peculiar. "Before it got loose, I saw it wake up. I almost felt as if it understood me."

"What do you mean, 'understood'?" asked Hermione, starting to think that Harry was a little bit off his rocker.

Harry must have sensed this, because he shook his head, his smile disappearing. "Forget it," he said quietly, his face red with embarrassment. He bit into his plum, looking down at his desk. Hermione sighed and continued eating her sandwich. She must have been too pushy, which she had a tendency to be when she was shocked or angry. Her father was always telling her to calm down.

"Do you want some crisps?" she asked Harry, pushing them toward him.

A surprised, grateful look came over his face. "You don't want them?" he asked, grabbing the bag and looking back up at her.

Hermione shook her head. "I have enough food already." It was true; as soon as she finished her banana, she'd be full.

"Thanks," he said, grinning appreciatively.

"You're welcome," Hermione said. "You can have my shortbread too."

Harry raised his eyebrows at her generosity. "Aren't you going to be hungry later?"

"No, but you will be," Hermione replied lightly. Harry grinned again, and Hermione smiled. Harry wasn't as strange as everyone claimed – he was just a little shy and awkward. She had a feeling that they were going to become very good friends.

"Harry," she said, as they left the form room, "how would you like to join me and Katharine for lunch tomorrow in the dining hall?"

Harry looked surprised, but he nodded slowly. "I'll do that," he said, sounding pleased as she turned to walk toward the opposite direction. "And – Hermione?"

Hermione turned back around. "Yes?" she asked inquisitively.

"Thank you," he said sincerely.

With the glowing knowledge that she had done something good, Hermione walked away with a spring in her step, not noticing the tall, curly-haired boy watching her intently from behind the corner of the hallway.

* * *

"Boy! Come downstairs and wash the dishes!" Aunt Petunia shouted up the stairs.

Harry grumbled, annoyed at the interruption of his geography study, and ambled down the stairs, reviewing the text in his head as he let warm water run over his fingers. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia in the living room were watching the news on the telly, and Harry let his mind wander, smiling a little as he thought of his new friend.

_"The Prime Minister says that no one has yet been arrested for the deadly explosion on London's King's Street two weeks ago. The explosion destroyed several shops and businesses in the area, but fortunately, only three people were injured and none were killed. Investigators are still trying to determine how this particular symbol could have been imprinted onto the sky after the explosion."_

Hands still soapy, Harry crept silently to the entrance of the living room, looking curiously at the photograph displayed on the telly screen. A green image was outlined clearly against the hazy sky: a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth. Harry felt a chill go through him; the bright green was the same color as the flash of light in his recurring nightmare.

_"Although the image only remained for a few minutes after the explosion, there have been numerous sightings of it across London on in the sky, in shops, and on the underground. Investigators believe that the symbol is associated with a secret gang that has yet to be discovered."_

"Those hooligans ought to be found and executed," Uncle Vernon barked at the television screen. "Godspeed to the police!"

The newscaster moved on to another story. Harry sneaked back to the kitchen sink and finished washing the dishes. He was just about to go back up to his room when he noticed Aunt Petunia staring at him from the entrance of the living room, looking extremely pale.

"Aunt Petunia?" asked Harry cautiously. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, moving closer to him. Harry hovered at the sink uncertainly.

"Harry," she said, grabbing his wrist. Harry jumped, alarmed. She never called him by his first name or touched him unless she could help it. "I need to show you something," she hissed urgently.

"All – all right," said Harry, wondering at the sudden change that had come over her. Aunt Petunia squeezed his wrist tighter. "Ouch! That hurts, Aunt Petunia," he exclaimed softly, trying not to disturb his uncle, who was barking at the television again. She let go of his wrist and led him to the cupboard under the stairs where he had stayed for the first eleven years of his life. Harry stopped some distance behind her, rubbing his wrist, and watched her open the door. He wondered if this was a trap to lock him in the cupboard.

Instead, Aunt Petunia crawled into the small space and began rummaging through it, coughing slightly at the dust she was shaking up.

"What are you looking for?" he asked, starting to think that she had gone mad

"Your letters," she answered absently, her voice muffled by the cupboard.

Harry's eyes widened, his heart pounding in his chest. Unsure if he had heard her correctly, he repeated, "My _letters_?"

Aunt Petunia took her head out of the cupboard briefly, looking extremely irritated. Her normally neat, pristine blonde hair and her clothes were covered in dust. "Yes, boy, your letters, the ones you received before you turned eleven. Now _stop asking questions_."

Harry snapped his mouth shut, waiting anxiously. He couldn't believe that he was finally getting a chance to see the letters – _his_ letters – that should he'd regretted not opening for four years. Whoever had sent them had been very desperate to contact him, and Harry was sorely disappointed when the letters had stopped coming to the house.

Coughing raspily, Aunt Petunia emerged with a stack of yellowed envelopes in her hand. Harry recognized the green ink on them immediately, and resisted the urge to grab them out of her hand. Brushing herself off, she closed the cupboard the door, then handed the letters to Harry. One of them was open, but the rest were not.

"You have to find the headmaster," Aunt Petunia said.

Harry stared at her. "The headmaster?" he said stupidly. "Of Stonewall?"

"No, you idiot," she hissed. "Of the school that sent these letters. Go on, take them upstairs and read them." She looked around nervously as if she didn't want her husband to find out what she was doing.

"All right, Aunt Petunia," said Harry slowly, as if he was talking to a dangerous animal, and then he raced up the stairs into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

Trembling in excitement, Harry took the letter out of the open envelope and unfolded it. The paper felt old and thick, like ancient parchment. The letter looked like it had been written using calligraphy. Harry read the thin, loopy handwriting carefully.

_Dear Mr. Potter:_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…_

As Harry continued reading, he felt a sick, consuming rage rise up inside of him. Was this some kind of elaborate practical joke designed by his aunt to make him feel disappointed and angry and embarrassed? Perhaps Dudley had written all of these letters and planted them around the house as a cruel trick. But Harry knew from experience that Dudley couldn't write calligraphy, and that his cousin's penmanship was not nearly as good as those in the letters. Perhaps he'd custom-ordered the letters from some sort of shop.

His face burning with frustration, Harry threw the letter on the floor and opened all of the other envelopes. They all contained the same things: a congratulatory acceptance letter and a list of supplies, half of which Harry were certain didn't exist. Soon the floor of Harry's room was covered with crumpled paper balls of varying shapes and sizes. Harry fumed and kicked them around, picking some up and throwing them at the walls as he tried to relieve his blinding, angry disappointment. How could he have been so stupid? How could he think that anything good would come from something he wanted so badly? Every time his hopes were raised, they were dashed by cold, hard reality.

He mind flashed to Hermione, the new student he had befriended at Stonewall today. Was she also another false hope? Was he going to give up his invisible, bully-free status only to be betrayed by the tempting promise of friendship? Harry groaned, running his hands through his hair and wanting to scream, but he knew that if he did, his uncle would come in and yell at him for hours. He settled for taking one of the letters and ripping it in half, then again, and again, and again. He tore apart one of the envelopes too, trying to ignore the overwhelming disillusionment he felt as he did so. "Stupid!" he snapped at himself, blinking back sudden tears. "Stupid! Idiot!"

"What are you doing?!" Aunt Petunia's shrill voice cut through his rampage. Harry stopped ripping and looked at her, breathing shakily. His aunt was standing at the doorway of the bedroom, clutching her chest and looking extremely agitated.

"These letters aren't real," he informed her bluntly. "This school doesn't exist. I don't know why you thought it'd be funny to give these to me" –he ripped the piece of envelope he was holding in half again—"but I don't think this is a good joke –"

"Stop! Stop!" Aunt Petunia shrieked, snatching the ruined envelope out of Harry's hand. "You idiot boy!" She picked up one of the undamaged letters and envelopes from the floor and clutched them tightly. "You idiot boy," she snapped more calmly, taking the items into her and Uncle Vernon's bedroom. Harry heard some drawers open and close and knew that she was hiding them. Returning to Harry's room, she ordered stiffly, "Clean up your room," and walked back down the stairs.

Harry watched her, feeling sick and confused and a little bit guilty, and he picked up the crumpled letters and envelopes from the floor. He couldn't bring himself to throw them away, so instead he settled on putting them neatly in a pile under his bed. Perhaps one day he'd be able to dispose of them like the rubbish they were.

Sighing, Harry scanned his geography text before deciding that he could no longer concentrate on his studies tonight. He hopped into bed and turned off the light, but lay awake for most of the night, thinking restlessly about magic and wizards and Aunt Petunia.


	2. Conversations

The next morning, Aunt Petunia acted normally at breakfast. "Eat quickly," she said to Harry stiffly, and she turned back to rearranging the dishes in the sink. Harry thought of asking her about the letters and her strange behavior from the night before, but he decided against it and silently followed his uncle to the car.

There was an assembly today instead of registration in the form room, so Harry followed the stream of students into the main hall, pulling at his collar. He still needed a new shirt, but he had managed to sew part of his old one back together so that he didn't need to tape it as much. Unable to find Hermione in the large crowd, he seated himself in the back row and prepared to tune out the headmaster's voice.

Headmaster Truden was a short, wheezy, balding old man with a wispy gray beard who always dressed in a brown suit, which Harry privately thought looked like the manure Aunt Petunia used to fertilize her garden. Standing at the front of the room, he looked exactly like a dirty garden gnome. "May I have everyone's attention, please?" he spoke into the microphone, which squealed sharply for a few seconds, causing several students to cover their ears and wince in pain. "It has recently come to my attention," continued the headmaster, "that some incidents of bullying have occurred within the past week. Bullying will not be tolerated at Stonewall!" Several students jumped in their seats, including Harry, who thought that Truden sounded very much like an angry Uncle Vernon. The headmaster paused, breathing heavily. "If you see any instance of bullying, you are to report it to a teacher immediately. Is that clear to everybody?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see his maths teacher Mr. Rowle nodding his head sternly in agreement. He sank down into his seat, wondering if Mr. Rowle had reported his and Polkiss' fight to the headmaster.

"It has also come to my attention," Truden continued, "that some of our students have been using empty classrooms as appointed locations for, how shall I say, lovers' trysts." A quarter of the students (mostly female) blushed with embarrassment, while the others snickered and coughed in response. "I would like to remind you…"

Harry began to doze off, letting the headmaster's voice wash over him. In his dream, Truden transformed into a taller man with a long silver-white beard, dressed in flowing purple and blue robes with silver skies on them. He smiled at Harry genially and put on a matching purple wizard's hat, then asked him, "Mr. Potter, are you paying attention? Harry? Harry?"

Somebody was shaking him. Mumbling, Harry opened his eyes blearily and looked up into Hermione's worried face. A blonde girl with pale blue eyes lingered behind her, looking slightly impatient.

"Harry, let's go, we'll be late for maths," said Hermione.

"Mmf," Harry mumbled in response. "I'm coming." He stood up slowly, his body still sore from lack of sleep, and followed Hermione and her friend – Harry vaguely recognized her as Katharine Balim – to maths class. Mr. Rowle gave them disapproving looks as they crept into the back row, but continued with his lesson nonetheless, while Piers Polkiss turned around from the front and smirked at the group, leering at Hermione briefly. Hermione didn't seem to notice.

Harry couldn't focus on the lesson. His mind kept wandering to the dream he'd had and to the letters that Aunt Petunia had given him. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had always told him that magic didn't exist, even when he was a child and wanted to believe in it. But how else did the glass disappear on the boa constrictor's cage on Dudley's eleventh birthday? Harry used to think that it was magic when he was younger, but as he grew older, he began to chalk it up to an unfortunate accident. He thought of Aunt Petunia's strange behavior yesterday. She seemed genuinely earnest, desperate even, for Harry to read the letters and to – what was it she said? Contact the headmaster of the school? Harry tried to recall headmaster's name on the letter. Dumbley…no…Bumblelore…no…Dumbleduns…no…he couldn't remember. Harry scowled, thinking of the letters and the fury he'd felt toward them, and decided to reread them one more time just to find out the headmaster's name. If he didn't, he'd be trying to remember it for the rest of the week.

"Do you have a question, Mr. Potter?" Mr. Rowle boomed from the front of the classroom.

Harry looked up, realizing that he had been glowering at the textbook on his desk. He swallowed. "No, sir," he answered.

"Good, then you can answer question number thirty-one from last night's homework."

Harry scrambled around on his desk, pulling out the homework he had done, and read out his answer.

"That is correct, Mr. Potter. Kindly pay attention to the lesson," Mr. Rowle reprimanded. Harry flushed and fixed his eyes on the front of the classroom until the lesson had ended.

"What were you thinking about?" Hermione asked him on their way out of the classroom.

Harry shook his head, unwilling to talk about the letters on his mind. "Nothing, I was just tired," he said, looking down at the ground. "Couldn't sleep last night."

Hermione bit her lip, looking worried, and gestured to the blonde girl walking beside her. "This is Katharine," she said. "I'm sure you two already know each other…"

"How do you do," Katharine said, sticking her hand out. Harry looked up and shook it back, nodding awkwardly.

"Harry, how about you join us and some of our friends during lunch," Hermione said, ignoring Katharine, who had turned to gawk at her. "We'll be in the dining hall."

Harry looked from Katharine's aggrieved expression to Hermione's welcoming one. "I don't want to be an inconvenience," he muttered, privately suspecting that Katharine didn't want anything to do with him.

"You won't be," assured Hermione, elbowing Katharine just as she opened her mouth to speak. "Right, Katharine?"

"As I was _saying_ ," Katharine huffed, tossing back her blonde pigtails, "you're welcome to join us, Harry. I was just, er, surprised. Hermione hadn't told me earlier that she was inviting you." And she gave Hermione one of those meaningful looks girls gave which Harry had never been able to decipher.

"All right, then," said Harry, looking at Hermione gratefully and at Katharine with apprehension. They smiled at him and walked briskly out of the room together.

Harry could barely sit still during the rest of his lessons. The more he thought about lunch, the more anxious he became. He'd never had to interact with a large group of people before. Even yesterday's lunch with Hermione had been a new experience, and an awkward one at that. Plus, Katharine and her friends had probably been at Stonewall since their first year; they were bound to already think he was a freak.

As his geography lesson ended, Harry tried to calm his racing heart and walked toward the dining hall with slightly unsteady legs. He hardly ever visited the dining hall, preferring to eat meals in the form room where he could be alone. He had already eaten his lunch during the morning break, so he hoped that going to the dining hall wouldn't make him hungry again. As he entered, the loud laughter and chatter and the varying smells of hot dishes made him dizzy, and he had to blink and pause to adjust himself before searching for Hermione's group. Finally spotting her bushy brown hair, he pushed his way through to her table and took a seat. Sitting across from him was a Chinese girl with butterfly ornament in her hair.

"Hello, Harry," she said politely, "I'm Sara. Sara Cheung."

"Hello," said Harry. Hermione grinned at Harry, and the rest of the group began to introduce themselves. There was Will, the stocky, friendly blonde boy; Lina, bright and cheerful with bouncy curls to match; and Arianne, with straight brown hair and a book under her arm. Harry shook each hand and tried hard to remember each name and face: he'd never met so many people at once.

An uncomfortable silence then descended upon the table. It was clear that nobody was quite sure what to say to Harry. Taking a breath, Harry decided to try a hand at making conversation. "Er, what have you all heard about me?" he asked, his face heating up as he realized that this was probably not the best question to ask.

"Heard you were a bit of a nutter," Arianne said bluntly, the corner of her mouth twitching as if she were suppressing a smile as she looked back down at her book.

"Er," said Harry, not sure whether or not she was taking the mickey out of him.

"She's joking," Will cut in quickly.

"She only _thought_ you were a nutter," Lina said helpfully. "She didn't hear that you were."

"Harry's not a nutter," Hermione defended, sounding annoyed and glancing at Harry apologetically.

"No, no, I'm not," Harry said, flustered, shaking his head. "At least, I don't think I am." He tried to find a more suitable topic to discuss, but all he could think about was the events of the previous night. "My aunt is, though," he blurted out. "She went a bit mad yesterday."

"Really? How?" Katharine leaned in closer, and her friends followed her lead.

"I – I dunno," said Harry nervously, unused to the large amount of attention. "She's usually yelling at me to do chores and such, right?"

"You live with your aunt?" Katharine interrupted.

Harry nodded. "My parents died in a car crash when I was a baby. I live with my aunt and uncle, and my cousin attends Smeltings." He wondered whether making friends always involved this sort of interrogation.

"All right, go on then," said Katharine, her eyes alight with curiosity.

"Er…" Harry cleared his throat. "Usually she's making me do chores, but yesterday she said she had to show me something. She ends up searching through a cupboard, making a huge mess, and handing me this set of letters addressed to me." He paused, unwilling to continue. The content of the letters suddenly seemed very personal, and he didn't want to share it with anyone.

"Well?" asked Sara. Harry's eyes flew to her butterfly ornament. It was quite pretty. "What did the letters say?" she asked.

"Oh – er – well, they were just a bunch of rubbish," said Harry quickly, "a load of tosh, really, about some ma – some magpies," he finished lamely.

"Magpies?" Sara repeated, looking confused.

"Yes," Harry said, a little frenzied now. "The birds. Nothing to do with me, really. I didn't understand it at all, but my aunt seemed to think it was very important."

"That _does_ sound barmy," Lina breathed, her eyes wide.

"Does your aunt go mad often?" Arianne asked, looking up from her book. Will smacked her lightly.

"No," said Harry, "never. This was the first time I'd seen her like that."

"Hm," Sara said, a pensive expression on her face. Nobody seemed to know how to respond.

"My parents were going to send me to Smeltings," Will said suddenly, "but balked when they saw the uniforms."

Relief rushed over Harry. Smeltings was something he could talk about, because Smeltings was something that existed. "Yeah, it's a bloody ugly uniform," he said, looking at Will gratefully. Will winked.

"What's it like?" Hermione inquired, looking between the two boys curiously.

Harry described the uniform, grinning as he thought of Dudley in the orange knickerbockers, maroon tailcoat, and a boater hat. "And let's not forget the Smeltings stick," Harry added.

"What's that?"

"It's a knobbly stick all Smeltings students carry around," responded Harry. "They like to hit each other with them."

Katharine giggled. "Smeltings encourages boys to hit each other with their special sticks?" she said, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

"Yes," Harry answered solemnly, and all of the girls except for Hermione dissolved into giggles. Hermione shook her head disapprovingly, but she was trying hard not to smile. Looking at the people around him, Harry smiled hesitantly, and for the first time in years, his face lit up, and he began to laugh.

* * *

Hermione sat next to Harry on the front steps of Stonewall High, waiting for their families to pick them up underneath a cloudy grey sky. Lina had asked Hermione to go to the cafe with her and Katharine after their French lesson, but Hermione had declined, as her new house was still filled with boxes that she needed to unpack. Harry was surprised when Hermione had joined him on the steps, but she'd insisted that friends kept each other company. She glanced over at him briefly. A textbook was open on his lap, but he was staring straight ahead at a red car across the street. "Harry," said Hermione.

Harry blinked and looked at her. "Yes?"

"Lunch was fun today."

He grinned. "Thanks for inviting me," he said, and he took a deep breath. Hermione looked at him inquisitively. "I – I wanted to thank you for befriending me," he said in a rush. "Most people – nobody has ever been my friend before you, and I'm – I'm truly grateful for…for you."

Hermione turned bright red. "You're welcome, Harry," she said. Harry was gazing at her with undisguised appreciation, and she felt her heartbeat quicken for no reason. Averting her eyes, she looked down at the textbook he held. "I didn't know you were studying textiles," she said.

Harry nodded. "Yes, it's my favorite subject." He closed the book and shoved it into his bag, looking at her quizzically. "What's yours?"

"Mine's maths," said Hermione. "I'm best with numbers. Numbers and facts."

Harry scuffed the ground with his old trainers. "I like maths too," he said, "Mr. Rowle's one of the best teachers I've ever had."

"He's a little bit frightening," said Hermione with a grin. "He reminds me of my history teacher from my old school, Mr. Combe." She let out a sigh inadvertently, her heart aching slightly as she thought of her old life in the city.

"Why did you come to Surrey?" Harry asked.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she remembered the dark smoke and breaking glass, the people screaming and the wail of coming sirens, the shattered peace and the rare blue sky above. She saw her parents' office exploded in the distance, their precious x-ray machine and dental tools falling everywhere, remembered the screaming arguments she'd had with her parents about leaving her school and her friends behind, and the arguments they'd had with each other about moving to a safer place.

"Hey – Hermione. Are you all right? _Hermione!_ "

Hermione barely had time to acknowledge Harry's cry before she felt someone push her out of the way and grab her arms behind her back. She snapped out of her memories and screamed, struggling. Across from her, Harry was receiving the same treatment from a bulky boy with a mean face. Standing between them was Piers Polkiss, who looked very, very angry.

"Trying to get me suspended, Potter?" he snarled at Harry, grabbing him by the front of his shirt.

Harry glared at him furiously and spat in his face. "Let me go," he grimaced as the bulky boy twisted Harry's arm a little. "I haven't a bloody clue what you're talking about."

Polkiss wiped the spit off his face and snatched Harry's glasses. "Really now, Potter?" he sneered. "You think I don't know who ratted me out to the headmaster for the assembly this morning?" He punched Harry hard across the face, throwing the glasses down the steps so that they shattered on the concrete pavement.

Hermione screamed again. "Stop it!"

Polkiss whipped around and laughed, licking his lips. "I'll deal with _you_ later," he said in what was meant to be a suave tone. Hermione tried to rush forward so that she could kick him in the groin – preventing him from dealing with _anybody_ later – but the grip on her arms was too tight. Hermione pulled against them in frustration, but her holder simply laughed gutturally and tightened his grip.

"Let her go, Polkiss," Harry gasped, struggling to break free and to focus on Polkiss' face. "If you have a problem, lay it on me. Leave her out of it."

"Very noble of you, Potter," sneered Polkiss, punching Harry in the stomach. As Harry doubled over, Polkiss walked over to Hermione and smirked. "I heard you went to an independent," he said, reaching out to touch Hermione's hair. "I wonder if you taste different than the Stonewall girls?" Hermione, sensing what was coming, jerked her head away with a glare, but Polkiss grabbed her chin and forced her to look straight ahead. "Kiss me," he hissed, and he leaned in closer.

Several things happened at once. Just before Polkiss' lips could touch hers, there was a sharp flash of white light, and Polkiss was knocked backward toward Harry, who seemed to be emitting a blinding whitish glow around his body. Polkiss' crony, upon noticing the light, dropped Harry's arms and ran; the one holding Hermione quickly followed suit. Polkiss' body bounced off Harry's glow and finally began to fall onto the steps between Harry and Hermione. Hermione winced, expecting to hear a sickening crack and almost hoping that Polkiss _would_ crack his skull open, but all she heard was a gentle thump. Her heart racing, Hermione looked up at a shocked, pale, and panting Harry, his arms outstretched as if he were reaching out for Polkiss' body.

"Are you all right?" he gasped.

"I think I should ask you," Hermione said, rushing to him as quickly as she could. Her legs felt like jelly, as if all of the energy had suddenly been robbed from her body. Was that what the white light had been? she wondered briefly, and she shook her head to clear it of nonsense.

"I'm fine," Harry insisted, but he was clutching his stomach and shaking. Sweat dripped off his forehead onto his tattered coat.

"Sit down," said Hermione, wanting to do so herself. Harry obeyed. They both glanced toward their unconscious classmate. "What are we going to do?" Hermione said anxiously. "About him?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know," he said hollowly. His breath was coming in ragged gasps, and his skin was very white. Hermione grabbed his hand; it was cold.

"You're ill," she breathed.

"No, no, I'm not," he mumbled unconvincingly. He winced, gently touching the bruise forming on his face with his free hand. "You have to check on Polkiss," he said, his unfocused green eyes wide and pleading. He looked unusually vulnerable. "Make sure he's still breathing."

Hermione nodded. She crawled over to Polkiss' body and leaned over it, shuddering to think what would happen if he woke up and saw her in this position. Quickly grabbing his wrist, Hermione found that his pulse was steady, as well as his breathing. He seemed to be in a far better state than Harry, who was turning green at the side of the staircase. As Hermione made her way back to him, he leaned over the edge and vomited.

"Sorry," he muttered when she sat back down. His breath was still shaky, but it was returning to a normal rhythm.

"Don't apologize," she said with a shake of her head. She added, "Polkiss is fine. His breathing and heart rate are normal." Hermione worried her lip, wondering why her parents hadn't come to pick her up yet and wishing that they were here to take care her and Harry. A glance of her watch told her that they were twenty minutes late. After a short, pregnant silence, Hermione asked the question on both their minds. "What was that white light?"

Harry avoided her gaze and shook his head slightly. "I don't know," he said, though he sounded like he did indeed know something.

"Really," said Hermione disbelievingly.

Harry shook his head and frowned. "It's not possible," he said to himself.

"What's not?"

"Magic," said Harry, and he looked up at her, begging her to convince him. "Magic isn't real."

Hermione looked at him uncertainly. She was hardly a religious person, and certainly not one to believe in magic or angels or anything of the sort – but how else could she explain the white light that had surrounded Harry and protected her from Polkiss' assault? It couldn't have been an illusion, because they had both seen it, both felt it. Hermione's head hurt as she thought about it. Harry stared at the ground, looking puzzled and incredulous and horribly exhausted.

Five minutes later, Hermione's parents pulled up in a small blue Volkswagen. "Hermione!" her mother shouted from the front passenger's seat. "Are you ready? I'm so sorry we're late, there was a horrible accident along the way. We drove here as soon as we could."

"Mum," Hermione said, never feeling so relieved before. She tried to stand up to go to the car, but her legs failed her.

Looking alarmed, her mother got out of the car and ran up the steps, nearly stepping on Harry's broken glasses. "Hermione, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Mum, I'm fine," said Hermione, attempting to stand up once more. She managed it, but only barely. Standing shakily, she clung to her mother and said, "I'm just a bit woozy, is all. I - er – ran around the school today. Mum, this is my friend Harry."

Harry waved from the ground, still looking extremely pale. The bruise stood out sharply against his skin. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Granger," he said hoarsely.

"Oh! Would you like a lift home?" asked Mrs. Granger, looking up and down at him critically.

Harry looked like a deer caught in headlights. "I…no, thank you," he said, coughing. "My uncle should be here soon to take me home."

Hermione gave Harry a very worried look, which her mother must have noticed. Mrs. Granger said quickly, "Are you sure, dear? It won't be any trouble at all."

Harry hesitated and shivered. The sky was beginning to darken. "I would appreciate it," he nodded, and he stood slowly, holding the railing and squinting. "My glasses," he said, "they broke."

Mrs. Granger gestured to her husband, who got out of the car and came up the stairs, looking confused. "George, help this poor boy down the stairs," she said, "he can't see properly right now."

"Wait," said Harry, and he took in a shaking breath. "There's a boy sleeping behind you, Mrs. Granger – a classmate of ours – please wake him up before we go."

Hermione's eyes widened; she had nearly forgotten about Polkiss. She let her mother help her down the stairs as her father did the same for Harry. As soon as the two teenagers were safely in the car, Mr. and Mrs. Granger bent over Polkiss and shook his shoulder gently. Polkiss bolted upright, took one look at the adults standing over him, and fled down the stairs away from the school.

"Strange bloke," Mr. Granger remarked as he got into the driver's seat, and he drove them away from the wretched front entrance of Stonewall High.

* * *

"Boy! Where were you? I drove all the way to that bloody school and no one was there!" Uncle Vernon bellowed as soon as Harry walked through the front door of the house.

Harry didn't answer, stumbling toward the kitchen to take some ice from the freezer. He winced as he stretched his arm out, touching his tender face and stomach briefly. Polkiss had punched him dangerously close to his ribs, and a bruise was forming right underneath them at the center of his body. Harry couldn't remember being hurt like this since Dudley had left to board at Smeltings.

"Boy!" Uncle Vernon snapped again, and he lumbered out of the living room into the kitchen, stopping short when he saw Harry holding two ice packs to his body. "What the hell happened to you?" he asked gruffly.

"Nothing," said Harry, grimacing as he collapsed into a chair. It hurt to speak. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think, and it hurt to see, because everything was blurry. The cold ice bit through his skin, making him shiver violently, and his teeth chattered. "I'm f-fine."

Uncle Vernon's eyes darted between Harry and the living room. "Petunia," he called after staring hard at Harry, whose eyes had begun to glaze over. "Come here. The boy is ill."

Aunt Petunia stalked out of the living room irritably. "What is it?" she snapped, and she took in Harry's bruised face, missing spectacles, and ghostly white skin. "What happened?" She looked at Uncle Vernon with alarm. Uncle Vernon, at a loss for words, looked back at her, equally alarmed.

Harry felt his eyes begin to close, and he embraced the darkness that surrounded him. Sleep felt so good, so comforting…

The ice packs fell to the floor as Harry toppled over in his seat. Vernon barely stopped him from hitting the floor as Petunia shrieked, "Boy! Wake up!" But no amount of screaming and shaking could wake him, and Petunia – ignoring her husband's protests – insisted that they take him to the hospital. Vernon grudgingly acquiesced and started the ignition, muttering under his breath about the late hour and glancing frequently at the boy in the backseat with a hint of concern.

Hermione's parents began to question as soon as they left Harry's neighborhood.

"What happened to that boy?" her mother asked casually. "Harry?"

Hermione gulped and thought frantically about how to explain what had had occurred.

"Hermione?" Mrs. Granger repeated with a warning tone in her voice.

"He – fell down the steps," Hermione said, clearing her throat and hoping that she sounded convincing. "The other boy – Polkiss – tripped Harry, and I – ran to catch Harry, but I was too late. So his – glasses broke, and he – he hit his face on the pavement." She wondered if her mother had seen the bruise on Harry's stomach, and decided not to mention it.

"And Polkiss fell asleep?" Hermione's father asked suspiciously.

Hermione nodded, trying to come up with an explanation. "He fainted," she said, mentally smirking as she tarnished Polkiss' reputation. "He had a bad reaction to the sound of broken glass. Something traumatic, I suppose."

An uneasy silence descended on the car as Hermione and her parents remembered the explosion in London. Hermione wanted to smack herself for reminding them of that day. They had never mentioned it since moving to Surrey, and now here they were, all thinking about it.

"Polkiss has been bullying you?" Mrs. Granger finally asked in concern.

"Yes," said Hermione, relieved to finally be able to tell the truth. "He's been bullying me and Harry ever since I arrived. Harry, mostly." She shuddered, thinking of how Polkiss had wanted to force himself on her, but decided not to tell her parents. They'd throw a fit if they knew. Plus, she doubted Polkiss would ever approach them again after what happened tonight.

"Have you reported this to the headmaster?" Hermione's father asked.

"Not yet," his daughter answered, privately pondering if she should.

"You ought to do it tomorrow morning, straight away," said Mrs. Granger, twisting around to look at her daughter imploringly. "The longer you keep silent, the worse it will get. I don't want anything bad to happen to you, understand?"

"Yes, Mum," sighed Hermione, feeling both appreciative and exasperated. She knew what her parents were thinking. They had moved here for a quieter life, where danger was not supposed to lurk around every corner, and if they found any, they would put a stop to it as soon as possible. If she didn't report Polkiss to the headmaster, then her parents certainly would, and Hermione, as much as she loved them, did not want them to get involved. "I'll report it tomorrow morning, I promise," she lied.

"Good," said Mrs. Granger.

"How have your lessons been going?" Hermione's father asked, trying to sound cheerful.

"Great," Hermione answered, also injecting false cheerfulness into her voice. She had always enjoyed lessons at her old school, and she knew her parents would be comforted if she said she enjoyed them at Stonewall. "They're wonderful, especially maths." That wasn't a lie. "I've made some new friends, too," she added quickly, "besides Harry."

"That's wonderful," her mother said brightly. "Who are they?"

Hermione felt a genuine smile break out onto her face as she described Katharine and Sara and their group, who had accepted her on the very first day of school. Gradually, her parents' worried looks disappeared, and the Granger family arrived at their new house relaxed and content.

* * *

Harry dreamed.

_The room was small, smoky, and rather shabby; worn wooden tables dotted the floor, and along one wall there was a bar and stools._

_"Good Lord," said the bartender, peering at Harry, "is this – can this be –?"_

_The pub, which had been full of talk and laughter just a second ago, was completely silent._

" _Bless my soul," the bartender whispered, "Harry Potter...what an honor."_

_He had tears in his eyes as he rushed forward and seized Harry's hand._

_There was a great scraping of chairs, and Harry found himself shaking hands with everyone in the pub. They were all wearing long robes and pointy caps, as if they had dressed up to be wizards for Halloween. Harry remembered a name. Hogwarts?_

" _Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."_

" _So proud, Mr. Potter, I'm just so proud."_

" _Always wanted to shake your hand – I'm all of a flutter."_

" _Delighted, Mr. Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."_

_He looked oddly familiar, and an image of a violet top hat flashed through Harry's mind._

_Diggle_ _looked very excited. "He remembers!" he cried, looking around. "Did you hear that? He remembers me!"_

_Wait, Harry thought, I never said that I remember you…_

Harry heard a loud beeping in the background. Slowly returning to consciousness, he groaned and tried to open his eyes. Someone placed a cup to his lips. "Drink, Harry," she said softly, stroking his hair gently, and Harry briefly wondered if he had died and met his mum. "Come on, Harry, drink."

Harry opened his mouth a little, and the woman tipped a cold liquid down his throat. "Good, Harry."

"Where am I?" he tried to ask, but all that came out was "Mmmf." Harry tried to roll over and look at the woman who was caring for him – could it really be his mum? – but a hand gently pushed him back down. "Rest," the woman whispered, and Harry complied, unable to resist the temptation of sleep.


	3. Questions

Hermione sat in the back row of the form room, looking around anxiously as Mrs. Garbet took attendance.

"Potter, Harry."

Silence. Mrs. Garbet made a tutting noise and called the next name. Hermione bit her lip. Harry was nowhere in sight. Last night, he had seemed fine when he left the car, just a little pale and tired – nothing that a good night's sleep and some hot soup couldn't cure. Apparently, she was wrong.

Her worry turned into dread as she walked to maths, remembering that Polkiss was in the same lesson. Would he tell everyone about the white lights and the fight? Would he call her a freak? Would he gloat to everyone about how he had beaten Harry Potter and almost taken advantage of the new girl?

But when Hermione entered the classroom, Polkiss did none of those things. Instead, all color drained from his face. His small, beady eyes followed her as she sat down next to Katharine in the front row, and then he stood up and sat as far away from her as possible on the other side of the room. Hermione pretended not to notice, but Katharine already had.

"What was _that_ about?" she asked suspiciously, nudging Hermione and jerking her head toward Polkiss.

Hermione put on an innocent look. "What was what all about?" she asked lightly.

"Polkiss just – _ran_ from you," Katharine replied. "Where's Harry today?"

Hermione shrugged, avoiding Katharine's skeptical stare. Katharine let out a loud sigh and turned to face the front of the classroom, crossing her arms over her chest. She continued to shoot Hermione dirty looks throughout the lesson, but Hermione ignored them all, doing her best to concentrate. Her mind kept straying to Harry. She wondered if there was any way to find out if he was all right. She couldn't ring him up because she didn't have his telephone number, but she did know where he lived. Perhaps she could stop by his house after lessons to drop off his maths notes and notify him about the homework assignment. After all, he wouldn't want to get behind in the lessons, since there was only a week until the end of term. Plus, he didn't live too far from Stonewall. She could easily ask her parents to drive to his house and wait for a few minutes.

With a triumphant grin, she stood up with the rest of her classmates and walked to English with a pouting Katharine beside her. Sara took one look at the both of them and asked, "What's the matter, Katharine?"

Katharine shook her head and glared at Hermione. "Nothing," she said, and she flounced off to go sit at the other side of the room. Hermione's grin vanished, and she bit her lip apologetically, taking a seat next to Sara.

"What's the matter with her today?" Sara whispered, looking at Katharine with a confused glance.

Hermione shook her head, feeling her heart eat away at her as she lied. "Katharine thinks I know something about Harry's absence today, but I don't."

"Ah," said Sara, nodding in understanding. "Well, she can be a bit dramatic sometimes. We'll sort it out during break." She smiled at Hermione reassuringly, and Hermione gave her a grateful smile back. She didn't like lying to her new friends, but she also didn't want to tell them about what had happened the night before. She still hadn't come up with an explanation for the white light that had shielded her and Harry from Polkiss, even though she'd spent half the night thinking about it instead of revising for her lessons. There was no way that magic existed. Hermione simply didn't believe in that nonsense. Still…

Hermione shook the thoughts away quickly, raising her eyes to the front of the room. Mrs. Boyd was lecturing about Shakespeare's use of structure in his sonnets, and Hermione leaned in to listen, thankful for the temporary distraction. She'd have plenty of time later to figure out the bizarre light and to make up her friendship with Katharine. For now, she needed to focus.

* * *

Harry's eyes opened slowly. He was in a world full of blurry shapes and colors, and there was a loud beeping noise next to his right ear. Instinctively, he reached out and groped around for his glasses, but all he could feel was empty air. He gradually realized left and right wrists were attached to some wires, and there was a bandage on his left arm, underneath which lay a needle piercing his skin. Harry blinked in confusion as he finally recognized where he was: a hospital.

Somebody was coming toward him. Harry squinted and made out the sharp, familiar features of Aunt Petunia. What was she doing here? He wondered if this was an illusion. He tried to sit up so that he could see her more clearly, but his body wouldn't allow it.

"Lie down," she ordered, thought not sharply, and Harry flopped back onto the crisp white sheets, his unfocused eyes staring at the ceiling.

"What happened?" he asked. "What am I doing here?"

She sniffed haughtily somewhere above his head. Even without his glasses, he could see her pressing her lips together tightly, as she always did when he asked questions. "Open your mouth," she said, placing a cup to his cracked lips. Harry obeyed, and she tipped some cold water down his throat. It was very soothing. He vaguely remembered someone doing that earlier, but he doubted it'd been Aunt Petunia. She never cared about Harry's health.

"I don't know what you did to yourself, you foolish boy," she finally said, as soon as Harry thought she had had enough of him and was going to leave. "But you came home and passed out, dropping ice all over my kitchen floor."

"Oh," Harry said, and the incident at Stonewall's front steps came rushing back into his memory. He reached a hand up to his face. His cheek was still tender, but less so.

"Yes, well, I had to clean all of it up as soon as we got back from this wretched hospital. The whole place was flooded," said Aunt Petunia. Harry could see her venomous glare in his mind. He felt that she should probably be more concerned about his health than her kitchen, but then, taking him to the hospital was unusually generous. When he was ill as a child, she'd simply stuck him in the cupboard for a week and made him starve off the illness, saving herself the trouble of cooking an extra meal.

"You should take care of yourself," Aunt Petunia continued. "I don't want the neighbors asking questions."

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes, Aunt Petunia," he murmured, hoping to stop her diatribe as soon as possible. He was beginning to get a headache from the blurriness surrounded him, and he wondered inanely if his broken glasses were still on the steps of his school.

A moment later, he heard a chair scrape backward against the floor and a slight clinking sound as his aunt grabbed her bag. "I will pick you up when you are released," she said stiffly, and she walked away. Harry heard a door close in the distance, and he closed his eyes, thankful for the darkness that flooded his vision. Soon his thoughts turned to the fight with Polkiss at Stonewall. In his mind, Harry could see the brilliant flash of light between Hermione and Polkiss, as well as the white light emanating from his own body, the way Polkiss' body bounced off of it and fell downward, as Harry stood, paralyzed, his arms outstretched to catch the boy but his legs frozen to the ground. Harry remembered wishing for a shield to protect him from Polkiss and to protect Polkiss from smashing into the stone steps. That wish had been granted, somehow, because neither he nor Polkiss was dead, and as far as Harry knew, Polkiss hadn't sustained any lasting injuries. As grateful as he was that Polkiss hadn't been killed, Harry still felt a slight curl of resentment. Why was he the one who had landed in the hospital? Polkiss was the one who deserved to be here.

Harry sighed. He had accepted the injustices of the world long ago, when his aunt turned a blind eye to Dudley's childhood bullying of Harry. His mind turned back to the white shield-like light that had surrounded his body. Had it really been magic? Was he really a wizard, as the strange parchment letters had claimed? Or had he imagined it all? Harry frowned at the confusing thoughts racing through his mind. There was only one way to answer his questions. He would have to contact the headmaster of this supposed school of magic, as his aunt had requested so bizarrely of him. The headmaster would know how to explain things, wouldn't he?

Satisfied with his decision, Harry relaxed and fell into a blissful sleep.

* * *

Hermione walked into the dining hall for lunch, aware of her new friends' eyes following her entrance. She had gone back to the form room during morning break in order to make an extra copy of her maths notes, so she had not been able to sort things out between her and Katharine as Sara had suggested. Hermione suspected that Katharine had told the whole group about her suspicious behavior in maths this morning, and now they were all waiting for an explanation.

Chewing her lip nervously, Hermione approached the table.

"Hi, everybody," she said, glancing at each of them carefully. Katharine was still pouting, Arianne had her head in a book as usual, and the rest looked alternately inquisitive and suspicious. Hermione sighed, remembering why she had never had many girl friends at Witsford in London and wondering how on Earth Will had dealt with this lot for so long. "I don't know anything about Harry," she lied, pulling out her food to hide her nervousness.

"I think you do," Katharine said angrily, staring hard at her.

Hermione shook her head vigorously. "I don't," she insisted, more loudly than she had intended. She felt like she was about to be attacked by a pack of vultures.

"You went to the form room for morning break instead of facing up to us," Katharine accused.

Hermione shrugged. "I wanted to study," she said quickly, flushing red at the weakness of her lie.

"Did something happen between you, Harry, and Polkiss last night?" Sara asked, shooting Katharine a warning look.

"No!" Hermione exclaimed, feeling her face burn.

"It's okay, Hermione, you can tell us," Will encouraged.

Even Arianne was looking up from her book now.

"We're your friends," Lina implored, her brown eyes widening. Her curls bounced as she nodded her head vigorously. "You can trust us."

Hermione bit her lip. "Nothing happened," she repeated, trying to keep her voice calm.

Katharine raised her eyebrows, while Lina looked doubtful. They exchanged glances, and Lina shook her head in a disappointed manner.

"Tell us what really happened," Katharine insisted. "We're your friends! You shouldn't be keeping secrets from us!"

Hermione felt angry tears suddenly come to her eyes. "Why do you want to know?!" she cried, feeling utterly humiliated and drawing the attention of over half of the students in the dining hall. "Y-you didn't even care if Harry lived or died a week ago! You told me he was a fr-freak!" Her voice cracked on the last word. "You've been in school with him for four and half years and y-you didn't even t-talk to him till now!" She blinked hard to keep back her tears and stood up abruptly, grabbing her lunch and her bag. "Y-you're not real friends at all!" And with that hurtful statement, she ran out of the now silent dining hall, her bushy hair flying behind her.

Hermione ran to the nearest lavatory. After checking to see that it was empty, she locked herself into a stall, crying as she remembered her old, uncomplicated city life, the explosion that had destroyed it, the friends she'd left behind, and the inexplicable events from the previous night. She hated lying to her friends and to her parents about what had happened. She'd never had a reason to lie to anybody until she came to Stonewall.

The lavatory door creaked open. Hermione wiped away her tears and stood up, grabbing her bag tightly. "Hermione?" she heard Sara ask softly. "Hermione, I know you're in here."

A wave of guilt passed over Hermione as she thought of what she'd said in the dining hall. "Please go away, Sara," she sniffed.

"Hermione, please come out. I'm sorry. We're sorry."

Hermione took a deep breath and stepped out of the stall. Sara looked at her with equal parts guilt and sorrow.

"I'm sorry," Sara repeated. "Come on, everyone's waiting outside to apologize."

Hermione nodded, walking over to one of the sinks. "I'll be out in just a minute. I need some time alone," she said. Sara gave her a small smile of understanding and left. Hermione heard conversation outside as the door opened and closed.

Hermione stared into the mirror. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her bushy hair stood up in different directions around her face as if she'd been electrified. Sighing in frustration, she reached up and tied her hair back with an elastic band on her wrist, making it look slightly better. She splashed some cold water on her face to rid it of redness, blew her nose, and then she opened the door of the lavatory apprehensively.

Lina, Sara, Arianne, Katharine, and Will all stood outside, looking very apologetic.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," said Katharine, "I should've left it alone." The others nodded, saying "sorry" sincerely one by one.

Hermione smiled shakily. "I'm sorry too," she said, "for yelling at you in the dining hall. It's been so difficult moving here from London –"

Will cut her off. "There's no need to apologize," he said firmly. "We should've trusted what you said in the first place."

"What you said about us and Harry – you were right," added Sara, "and – we should have talked to him earlier –"

Hermione shook her head. "It's all right, Sara," she said. Sara stopped and nodded gratefully.

"So do you forgive us?" Lina asked hopefully.

Hermione nodded. "You're forgiven," she said, looking around at all of them, and she meant it. Her friends' faces relaxed. Lina grinned, pulling Hermione by the arm. "Come on," she chirped cheerfully, "we're going to be late for physics."

Hermione followed, feeling strangely content.

After lessons ended, Hermione asked her parents to drive to Harry's house again so that she could drop off maths notes for Harry. She walked cheerfully up to the front door of number 4 and knocked on the door, eager to see Harry. A tall equine woman looked down at Hermione distrustfully. There were shadows under her eyes.

"Yes?" the woman snapped.

"Does Harry Potter live here?" Hermione asked, straightening her shoulders at the rude welcome. The woman looked left and right several times, eyes stopping on the Grangers' car, and then she nodded tightly. Hermione extended her hand, but the woman did not shake it. "You must be Harry's aunt," Hermione said. "I'm Hermione Granger, one of his classmates, and I wanted to drop off his maths notes. I noticed that he wasn't at school today, and I wanted to see if he was all right."

Harry's aunt pressed her lips together tightly. "He's in the hospital," she said shortly. "I'm afraid I can't say any more than that."

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed in alarm, causing Harry's aunt to hiss "Shh!" Hermione lowered her voice. "Do you know when he'll be released?" she asked.

The woman narrowed her eyes at Hermione, looked her up and down with a disapproving look, and gave the tiniest shake of her head. "If you'd hand me those maths notes," she said tightly, "I'll make sure that Harry receives them." Hermione nodded, fumbling around in her bag, and barely had time to hand the notes to Harry's aunt before the door slammed shut in her face. Frowning, she walked back to her parents' car and got into the backseat. Harry had mentioned that his aunt had been acting erratically lately, but she didn't think that erratic translated to rude.

"Hermione, you need to finish unpacking tonight," her mother said. "I'm getting tired of all of those boxes in your room."

"All right, Mum," Hermione answered distractedly, puzzling over what Harry's aunt had said. She hadn't realized that Harry was so ill. He'd looked completely exhausted when they'd dropped him off at his house yesterday, but Hermione had thought he'd be fine with a good night's sleep and a couple of bowls of hot soup. She hadn't thought that he would need to go to the hospital at all, much less for more than one day. Worried, Hermione chewed her lip, hoping that Harry wasn't suffering from anything serious. She realized with dismay that his aunt hadn't told her which hospital he was in, and she still didn't have their number. In fact, it had almost seemed that Harry's aunt didn't want anyone knowing about Harry at all.

Hermione knitted her brow, still puzzled, and began to walk up the stairs to her new bedroom. She made a face at the towers of sealed boxes filling up space in her room. Sighing at the daunting task ahead of her, she began to work her way through them, opening, unpacking, and sorting their contents one by one.

* * *

"Ah! You're awake, I see!" someone chirped next to Harry's ear. Harry looked in the direction of the voice. He saw blurrily that a nurse dressed in white was standing at the side of his bed, checking something off on a clipboard. "Let's get you to sit up, shall we?" Harry blinked rapidly and nodded. She propped him up gently against the bed and began to prod at the wires and needle on his arm. "Good…good…" she muttered.

"How long have I been here?" Harry asked. Aunt Petunia's visit had been the day after the Polkiss fight, as Harry had termed it.

"Since yesterday night," the nurse said brightly. "You're to be released after your eye exam with Dr. Oculens – and after your aunt brings you your clothes, of course."

Harry looked down, an embarrassed blush creeping up his face as he realized he was wearing nothing more than underwear and a hospital gown.

"Don't worry, dear, I've seen worse. Now, your aunt said she would be back soon…poor dear, she was here the whole night taking care of you….I told her to catch a wink of sleep before coming back…" The nurse looked down at her clipboard and continued to check things off. Harry stared at her, baffled. Aunt Petunia, here the whole night? Taking care of him, more than she had ever done in the entirety of Harry's lifetime? Hadn't she said that she'd gone back to the house to clean up the kitchen after taking him to the hospital?

The nurse chattered on, "Yes, she came back after lunch…barely slept a wink, as far as I could tell…said she was going to buy you some new clothing, but like I said, she'll be back…"

Harry's eyes widened. Now he was even more confused. It was unlike Aunt Petunia to take him to the hospital when he was ill; it was even more unlike Aunt Petunia to _stay_ at the hospital to watch over him; and it was definitely unlike Aunt Petunia to spend money to buy Harry new clothing. Harry felt like the world had tipped upside down while he'd slept. He shook his head and pinched himself a couple of times to make sure he wasn't dreaming. The pinches hurt. He wasn't.

There was a knock at the door, and the nurse went to answer it. "Yes!" Harry heard. "He's awake, please come in." Aunt Petunia's figure became clearer as she approached him. She appeared to be carrying two small bags. Harry looked at them warily; in the distance, the nurse exited the room quietly.

"I've bought you some new clothing," said Aunt Petunia, handing him the bags. "Put it on so that we can finish the eye exam and leave this wretched place."

Harry nodded, swinging his legs off the bed. His toes brushed the ground lightly, and he pulled out a pair of jeans, a dark green jumper, wool socks, and even underwear from the first bag. The second bag contained a shoebox, which upon opening revealed a pair of very clean, very new trainers. Shocked, Harry looked askance at his aunt, who seemed to be avoiding looking in his direction. "Thank you, Aunt Petunia," he said.

"You're welcome," she barely murmured. She turned her back to him, and Harry quickly changed into the clothes and shoes, admiring the soft feel of the material for an instant. They fit well.

"I'm ready," he announced.

"Good," she said, turning around. She paused and stared at him for a moment, then led him out the door. They followed the nurse down several different hallways. Harry tried not to get dizzy at the many blurry shapes and noises around him, thankful when she finally stopped in front of a door and rapped on it sharply.

A doctor opened the door, blinking owlishly over his spectacles. "Yes?" he asked.

"Harry Potter is ready for his eye exam, sir," said the nurse.

"Very well, go on into the next room," he said, closing the door behind him and ushering them to the adjacent room. "Sit in that chair, young man." He pointed to a large cushioned chair against the far wall, positioned next to several frightening machines. Harry jumped up into it, trying to make himself comfortable. The nurse nodded respectfully at the doctor and left, while Aunt Petunia watched Harry intently.

"Let's begin then, shall we?" said the doctor. Harry sat through the exam patiently. He hadn't had an eye examination since he was twelve years old, and it felt very strange to have lights shone into his eyes and lenses of different magnifications placed over them. The doctor finally finished, writing Harry a rather strong prescription.

"Aunt Petunia," said Harry, as they left the hospital and went to the car park, "My frames are broken. I'm going to need new ones."

"I _know_ that, boy," she snapped, starting up the car as Harry climbed into passenger seat, prescription in hand. "We are going to get you new spectacles on the way home."

Harry was starting to become less surprised by her generosity, but he still said, "Thank you, Aunt Petunia." Her hands tightened on the steering wheel in response, and she nervously navigated through a narrow street full of parked cars. Harry squinted and realized that they were in London.

"Out of the car, quick," she barked, parking abruptly in front of a small shop displaying spectacle frames in its window. Harry complied, pushing the shop door open. Chimes twinkled above his head.

"Welcome, welcome!" An old man greeted them joyfully, looking up from the counter where he was fiddling with a pair of brown spectacles. "How can I help you?"

"We need to fill this prescription," Aunt Petunia snapped, snatching it out of Harry's hand and handing it to the man. "As soon as possible, please. Choose some frames, if you will," she ordered Harry. "Be quick about it."

Harry had been rather fond of his old, round black frames, and he didn't have time to pick and choose another kind. As soon as he found a frame similar to his old one, he handed it to the old man, who examined them carefully before nodding his head. "Very good!" he said genially. "They should be finished within an hour. There's a lovely bookshop next door that my wife runs. How about you browse over there for a while?"

Aunt Petunia did not look pleased at the prospect of waiting for an hour, but she nodded tightly and dragged Harry next door. It was a used bookshop with a musty smell, and Harry wandered through the book aisles, trailing his fingers along the old texts, occasionally catching one that met his eye. The pages of the books were old and thick, like the parchment of the letters from the magic school.

"Why, it can't be…Harry Potter?"

Harry looked up sharply from the book he had been squinting at, reading about historical inventions. An old woman with wispy white hair was staring at him curiously at the edge of the aisle, and she approached him with unusual rapidity.

"Sorry, do I know you?" Harry asked, as she caught him by the shoulder with a pincer-like grip. Her eyes strayed to the top of his forehead, and her wrinkled fingers parted his hair in the middle of his forehead, looking intently at his scar.

"It _is_ ," she said, looking awed, and she smiled at him with sharp yellow teeth. Harry's mind flashed to the story of Little Red Riding Hood, and he broke out of her grip nervously, his heart pounding furiously. "I'm sorry, I don't think we've met," he said, backing away quickly, and he fled out the door, passing Aunt Petunia along the way. Aunt Petunia, looking alarmed, followed him back into the spectacles shop.

"Ah! Just in time," the old man exclaimed as the chimes twinkled. "They're all ready for you, young man." He handed Harry the newly made spectacles, and Harry put them on, relieved as the world suddenly became much clearer. Aunt Petunia handed the man some pound notes, and they went back to the car. Harry glanced behind him; the old woman from the bookshop was nowhere in sight. He wondered if it had been the old man's wife.

Aunt Petunia was silent on the way home. As soon as they arrived at the house, Harry made his way to his bedroom. He had never been so relieved to see his own room before. Remembering the decision he had made in the hospital, he unfolded one of the crumpled up balls of parchment under his bed and reread the letter, running his finger over the name "Albus Dumbledore," and he went downstairs to ask his aunt some questions.

* * *

Hermione yawned and stretched, checking the time. It was 8:20 PM, and she was ready to unpack her last box and study quickly before going to bed. Taking out a massive stack of notes from lessons at her old school, she shoved them into a desk drawer just in case she needed them to revise, and reached back into the box, sure that there was nothing left in it. After pulling out a few of her parents' old telephone bills, her fingers brushed something at the bottom, and she pulled out a thick envelope with a broken wax seal on the back. Hermione examined the seal carefully. There was a large H surrounded by what appeared to be a lion, a snake, a badger, and an eagle. Brimming with curiosity, she pulled out a letter written on thick parchment.

Hermione's eyes scanned the letter, widening more and more each time she reread it. Did this school really exist? Did _magic_ really exist? Could this explain what had happened last night at Stonewall? She remembered, suddenly, what Harry had said that night, looking up at her with confused and pleading eyes: "Magic. Magic isn't real." Hermione bit her lip, realizing the implications of that statement. Harry had known about it, or at least suspected – but he hadn't really believed it. Had Harry received the same letter once upon a time? Suspiciously, she recalled the conversation at lunch, and Harry's mention of the letters his aunt had given him regarding "magpies." He must have been talking about magic, Hermione decided. She'd have to talk to him about it when he returned to school.

Frowning, Hermione skimmed the letter, and her eyes caught onto one sentence that she hadn't noticed before.

_Please reply by July 31, 1991._

Realization dawned upon her as she looked at the envelope again. Her parents had opened the letter before. She recalled the summer before she started attending secondary school, the way her parents had watched her more closely, the whispered arguments they had when they thought she wasn't listening. Hermione had thought that they'd been fighting over the price of her school, but it was more likely that they'd been arguing over this. Hurt suddenly rushed through her as questions ran through her mind. How could her parents have omitted telling her about something so important? If she was indeed a witch, why would they not want her to learn how to control her intrinsic magic? Perhaps they had thought it was all a joke, but if that were the case, why would they hide the letter and not throw it away? Hermione felt a twisting feeling at the pit of her stomach. She'd always believed that her parents told her the truth. What other important things had they hidden from her?

Taking a deep breath, Hermione tried to calm the anger and hurt welling up inside of her. A confrontation with her parents would probably lead to nothing; they had hidden the truth for four years and would probably try to continue doing so. She'd just have to solve the mystery by herself – or with help from Harry, as soon as he returned to school. In the meantime, she could research Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall. Comforted, Hermione let out a small smile as she realized that she needed to go to the one place she'd always loved: the library.

* * *

Aunt Petunia was washing the dishes when Harry finally found the chance to talk to her. Uncle Vernon had gone to the living room to watch the news on the telly. Dinner had been an awkward, quiet affair, with his aunt and uncle clearing their throats frequently, shoveling food on to his plate every so often and a concerned glance at him. Harry, unused to such care from his relatives, had carefully concentrated on cutting up his food into very small pieces, a funny feeling in his stomach as he wondered when this play of niceties would end.

"Aunt Petunia," he said. She looked lost in thought as she ran her hands under the water.

"What?" she snapped, fixing a glare on him.

"I – I was hoping you could tell me how to contact this headmaster," Harry replied, adding, "Dumbledore."

Aunt Petunia dropped the dish she was holding with a loud clang; fortunately, it didn't break. Wiping her hands nervously on her dress, her eyes darted around the room before she hissed one word, "Owl."

Harry blinked. "I'm sorry?" he asked.

She glared at him, and repeated more loudly, "Owl." She turned back to the sink and continued washing as if Harry weren't there. Harry frowned in confusion, knowing that was the only answer he was going to get, and went back to his room to puzzle over his thoughts.

Owl. What did she mean, owl? Was that some kind of acronym for a magical communications system? How did she expect him to contact the headmaster when all she said was "owl"? Harry scowled, kicking one of the crumpled parchment balls. He started to think again that his aunt was playing an elaborate prank on him, but then he remembered his white shield on the steps of Stonewall High and he shook his head. Magic had to be real. His aunt wouldn't be acting so strangely otherwise.

Unable to figure out any more about magic, Harry resigned himself to catching up on his studies. Picking up papers from his desk, he read Hermione's attached note about the maths lesson and looked over her neat, precise handwriting. Touched, he vowed to thank her tomorrow morning and to repay the favor somehow. He was just about to start working on his homework when the door slammed open. Harry whipped around. Aunt Petunia was standing there glowering at him. "Get into bed at once," she snapped.

Harry dropped his pencil, but he didn't comply immediately. "Why?" he asked.

"The doctor said that you were to rest when you returned home," she said.

"I need to do my homework," he protested, though his eyes were beginning to feel heavy.

Aunt Petunia's whole face tightened this time, not just her mouth. She looked as if she were about to explode with the strain of keeping herself together. Harry, who had never seen her like this before, quickly scooted onto his bed and took off his glasses, laying his head down on the pillow and muttering "Yes, Aunt Petunia" under his breath. He started as Aunt Petunia came over to his bed, pulling up the covers and tucking him in as if he were a child, and then she turned off the light and closed the door softly. Harry had little time to be confused before he drifted off into his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I deliberately changed the wording of the Hogwarts letter for Hermione - after all, most Muggle parents would have no clue what "we await your owl" means.


	4. Experiments

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed as he walked sleepily into the form room on Thursday morning. The bruise on his cheek had almost completely faded, and he seemed to have fixed or replaced his glasses, which looked exactly like his old pair, but thicker. In contrast, for the first time since Hermione had met him, he was wearing new clothing that actually fit his body. A few girls' glances lingered on him as they turned around to stare at the returned Harry Potter.

"Thanks for the maths notes," he said, taking a seat next to her as his lips quirked into a smile.

"You're welcome," Hermione answered, pleased. Her eyes flicked toward the front of the room, where Mrs. Garbet was about to begin taking attendance. "I need to talk to you alone during the break," she half-whispered.

Harry's eyes flickered, and he nodded. "I'll meet you here then," he whispered, pulling out his maths textbook. It seemed that he hadn't quite finished his homework. Hermione left him to it and listened to the roll call.

Polkiss paled when he caught sight of Harry entering the maths classroom, and he trembled throughout the lesson. Hermione noticed Katharine glancing sharply between the two boys more than once, but thankfully she didn't give Hermione any suspicious looks as she had done yesterday. Hermione bit her lip and felt her face heat slightly as she thought of her embarrassing outburst in the dining hall, but she quickly turned her thoughts back to the lesson. Next to her, Harry was staring very hard at Mr. Rowle, but occasionally he also glimpsed at Polkiss, his brow furrowed slightly.

Finally, the morning break came around. Hermione told her friends that she had something private to discuss with Harry, and although they raised their eyebrows slightly, they did not question her.

"Hello," Harry said as she sat down next to him. He was sitting alone in the form room, fidgeting nervously with the collar of his polo shirt. Even Mrs. Garbet wasn't there.

"How are you?" she asked. "Your aunt told me you were in the hospital, though she was terribly rude about it."

Harry laughed softly. "I'm not surprised. I'm fine, just a little tired." He tugged at his collar one more time, then dropped his hands to his desk and avoided her gaze.

"Harry," said Hermione, "that night on the stairs…it was magic, wasn't it?" Harry's head jerked upward sharply, hesitance and astonishment written all over his face for a moment before his expression turned blank. Hermione plunged onward, taking a deep breath. "I found a letter when I was unpacking. It was from this school called the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." She quickly pulled out the notes she'd taken for her research in the library after classes. Harry read them, his eyes widening. "That's what you were talking about when you first met us in the dining hall, wasn't it? Your aunt gave you the same type of letters the day before, but you didn't believe her. And then you and Polkiss and I fought on the stairs, and there was that white light that shielded both of us. A magical white light, something…something inexplicable, something you didn't want to believe was magic." She paused to catch her breath. Harry ran his fingers through his hair, looking very nervous, and parsed her notes one more time.

"I thought I was the only one," he said, meeting her eyes. "My aunt – I think she knows more about it than she's letting on. She told me to contact the headmaster – Albus Dumbledore? – before she gave me the letters. She'd kept them hidden for four years. I remember getting them when I was eleven, but my aunt and uncle would never let me see what they said."

"You received more than one letter?" Hermione asked curiously.

Harry nodded distractedly. "Hundreds of them, in fact. They all said the same thing. The school was really desperate to contact me. We had to fly to America to get away. By the time we came back, the letters had stopped coming."

Hermione bit her lip, thinking. "Why did your aunt suddenly show you the letters?" she asked. "I found mine. My parents would have kept it hidden otherwise."

Harry considered something for a moment. "I don't remember exactly, but she was watching the news. There was a story about a previous explosion in London and some kind of image imprinted onto the sky…"

Hermione felt as if the air had been sucked out of her lungs. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the screams and smoke and sirens that invaded her senses, starting when someone touched her arm gently.

"Hermione?" It was Harry. She opened her eyes and gazed back at him, terrified. Realization dawned on his face. "You were there?"

Hermione nodded, taking calming breaths as the terror left her face. "It was awful," she whispered, blinking back tears. "My parents' office…"

Harry looked at her uncertainly, taking one of her hands and squeezing it gently. "It's over now," he said quietly.

"Yes. Yes, it is," she said, trying to revert to her businesslike manner. "So your aunt gave you the letters after watching that newscast?" she asked.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. I'm not sure if it was because of that story or because of something else. She just told me to contact the headmaster, and she's been acting strangely ever since."

"Did she say how to contact the headmaster?"

Harry laughed bitterly. "Kind of. When I asked her, she said 'owl,' and she wouldn't tell me anything else."

Hermione furrowed her brow and wrote "owl" underneath her notes. She didn't know anything about magic, but she supposed that using an owl was one way to send messages, just as pigeons were used during the First World War. "I'm going to the library to research this after lessons," she said, looking over her notes as she chewed her lip. "Do you want to join me?"

Harry hesitated and shook his head apologetically. "I need to catch up on my studies from yesterday," he answered. "But – tell me what you find. I'll try to join you next time." He gave her a small smile.

"All right," said Hermione, suddenly filled with excitement. It had been too long since she had had time to work on a project outside of school. She loved learning new material and figuring out a difficult answer, especially if it could explain something in her own life.

Harry stood up to leave. "I'll see you at lunch," he said, tugging at his collar again. "Bye, Hermione."

* * *

"Wow." Lina's eyes glazed over as Harry walked toward their table.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. Harry certainly looked better than he used to, but she didn't really consider him _fanciable_ just yet. Stonewall's dull grey uniforms prevented anyone from really being attractive, plus Harry was still so scrawny.

Harry took a seat next to Hermione, looking at Lina warily. "Hello," he said, pulling out his lunch.

"Hi, Harry," Lina said with a slight giggle. Katharine shot Hermione a confused look, while Sara just looked amused.

"Hi, Lina," Harry replied. "Sara, Katharine." He took a bite of his sandwich, a flush creeping onto his cheeks as he noticed Lina staring at him intently. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

"No," Lina said in a breathy tone. "Nothing's wrong at all."

Sara cleared her throat. "Nice clothes, Harry," she said. "Are they new?"

"Oh – er – yes," Harry said, looking down self-consciously. "My aunt bought them for me." He looked around. "Where are Will and Arianne?"

"Probably off kissing somewhere," Katharine replied elegantly, tossing back her long blonde plaits. "They had a fight last night. Something about the holidays."

"What are your plans for the holiday, Harry?" Lina asked with an overly bright smile, just as Harry took a large bite of his sandwich.

Harry choked in his haste to answer. "I'll be at home," he coughed, his face bright red. "As usual."

"Oh, that's lovely," Lina breathed. "It's always nice to be with family."

Harry looked as if he were about to counter her statement, but he shut his mouth wisely and simply nodded, looking desperately at Hermione for some way to avoid Lina's fluttering eyelashes. Hermione bit her lip apologetically.

"So, er, Harry," Sara said, "I was going to have a Christmas party at my house at the end of term next week. You're welcome to come. Just give me your phone number and I'll ring you."

"We should _all_ get Harry's phone number," Lina giggled. "Yours too, Hermione," she added as an afterthought.

"Of course," Hermione said, unable to prevent sarcasm from seeping into her voice. Katharine nudged Lina in the ribs and glared, while Sara shot Harry a sympathetic smile. Harry's face was quite pink now.

"I – have to run to the toilet," said Harry after he had exchanged phone numbers with the rest of the table, grabbing his bag and hoisting it over his shoulder quickly. "Great lunch." And he ran out of the dining hall, shooting Lina one last fearful look before going through the doors.

"Honestly, Lina," Sara scolded, "you've scared the poor boy off."

Lina pouted. "I didn't."

"Yes, you did," Katharine said. She mocked in a high-pitched voice, "'Oh, Harry, I want to make your babies! Give me your phone number, Harry!'" Katharine laughed. "I thought that there was something going on between you and Harry," she said, turning to Hermione inquiringly.

Suppressing her irritation, Hermione shook her head in response. "No," she said dismissively. Although Harry was likely her closest friend at Stonewall, she didn't really feel attracted to him in _that_ way – Lina's way. She'd barely known the boy for a week! Meaningful attractions needed far more time to develop. She suddenly remembered why Cecilia had been her only girl friend at Witsford. Girls gossiped too much. Surely there were far more important things to worry about than boyfriends!

"Don't worry, Hermione," Sara whispered as Lina and Katharine began to discuss their holiday plans. "Lina never fancies boys for more than a month."

Hermione felt a small comfort. At least Lina's ridiculous behavior would be over by the start of the next term. She hated girls sometimes. Boys were so much easier to deal with.

"Hermione? Did you hear what I said?" Sara asked, waving a hand in front of Hermione's face.

"Oh!" Hermione shook her head. "Sorry, Sara. No. What?"

"I asked what your plans were for the holidays," Sara replied, twisting a strand of shiny black hair around her fingers and looking at Hermione worriedly.

"I don't know," Hermione answered. "I'll probably ring up my friends in the city and ask them to visit."

"You should invite them to the party," Sara smiled. "I've never met anyone from the city except for you."

Hermione smiled back, feeling a guilty twinge as she thought of how long it'd been since she talked to her old friends. "I will."

* * *

Harry edged away from Lina as much as he could. She had insisted on sitting next to him for the geography lesson, even though she'd never even acknowledged him in it until today, and her intense brown-eyed stare was making him extremely uncomfortable. He'd never received such extreme attention from a girl before. A week ago no one had paid attention to him, and he'd never expected any – until he met Hermione. He'd been hesitant to accept her friendship at first, but after the incident on the front steps, he knew that she understood him in a way that no one else did. That she had also received a magic school letter only cemented Harry's belief in their connection. Harry was determined to find out more about this so-called wizarding world from his aunt, no matter how difficult it would be to milk her for information. Technically, she was the one who had sparked his curiosity in the first place.

Finally, the lesson ended and Harry stood up, relieved to be free of Lina's presence. He joined the throng of students leaving the school and lounged near the front doors for his uncle to pick him up, hoping that he wouldn't be late. Despite the new warm coat Aunt Petunia had bought him, Harry didn't relish the idea of waiting alone in the cold. The temperatures had been getting lower and lower each day, and pretty soon they would be freezing.

Waving at Hermione, who was taking the bus to the library, Harry watched the mass of students disappear and finally sat down on the steps, pulling out one of his textbooks and opening it across his lap. For once in his life, he itched to return to Privet Drive just so he could reread the letters crumpled up under his bed. After accepting that magic was indeed real, and that he had a fair amount of it, his mind had erupted with possibilities. If he could produce a shield to protect himself from being hit, what else could he do? Turn people into toads? Curse people for life? Harry grinned at the thought of cursing Polkiss and Dudley, but quickly brushed it away. Could he actually ride a broomstick like the witches in children's stories did? Or fly? Was his face going to sprout warts when he got older? Did he have a magical wand or staff? Harry thought he'd feel funny waving around a stick to cast spells. A staff would be much cooler.

Perhaps magic was what Uncle Vernon meant by "funny business." He had certainly read the Hogwarts letter when Harry had first received it. Harry wasn't sure if his uncle knew that the letters were now under Harry's bed, but he supposed that Aunt Petunia must have informed her husband about what the letters meant. He wondered why the school had contacted him so many times, but had only contacted Hermione once. Perhaps if the student had a relative who already knew about the wizarding world, then the school sent more letters. Or maybe Hermione's parents had written back right away saying that Hermione wasn't going to attend Hogwarts. As far as Harry knew, the Dursleys had never bothered responding to the letter; they'd simply run away as far and fast as they could.

A cold wind was blowing strongly, making Harry wrap his coat more tightly around himself. In the distance, thunder roared, and he could swear he'd seen a flash of lightning. A few seconds later, he groaned as he felt cold raindrops hit his face. He'd forgotten to bring an umbrella this morning, and Stonewall provided no shelter from the storm.

A sudden idea flashed through Harry's mind. Maybe he could use magic to keep him dry. If the magic had stopped him from being hit by Polkiss' body, perhaps it could do the same for raindrops. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to imagine a white light enveloping his body, keeping him warm and dry. The raindrops were hitting him less frequently now, even though it was pouring harder, and finally, Harry felt himself – and his glasses – completely dry despite the raging storm. Opening his eyes, Harry could not see any white light, but raindrops were bouncing off of some kind of thin protective layer over his body. Intrigued, Harry tried to make the layer thicker, but he felt his knees buckle and he stopped, getting hit with a downpour of rain before he managed to enact the layer again. He held it for a few minutes before Uncle Vernon pulled his car up to the steps, barking at Harry to get in quickly. Dripping with water, Harry climbed in, ignoring his uncle's growls about "flooding the whole damn car like you did the house," and headed back home toward Privet Drive.

Aunt Petunia shrieked as soon as Harry stepped into the kitchen, dripping rainwater all over her pristine floor. "Get those dirty clothes out of here immediately!" she cried shrilly, nearly dropping the pot roast she was taking out of the oven. Harry rolled his eyes and began to move upstairs to the toilet, stopping briefly in surprise when he heard her add, "And boy! Take a hot shower! I don't want you to be ill again!" Aunt Petunia's behavior had been getting more and more motherly since Harry had returned from the hospital. Harry still wasn't very comfortable with it, though he was grateful for fewer chores and more food to eat.

Relaxing in the shower, Harry grinned as he thought of the thin shield that he'd made to keep him dry. He was just about to step out when he felt a searing pain go through his scar, splitting his forehead in half. Clapping a hand to his forehead, he blinked past the pain and shut off the water, collapsing on the bottom of the bathtub and gasping in agony. Images and noises were flashing through his mind: a woman screaming his name, a flash of green light, cold and high-pitched laughter, an old man with a long silver beard, a circle of people dressed in skull-like silver masks and long black robes, a small pale baby swathed in robes, and – pure hatred suddenly coursed through Harry's body, hatred for the world, for all who had mistreated him, for his aunt and uncle and Piers Polkiss and his teachers and his classmates – he wanted to kill them all, destroy them –

"Stop!" Harry cried out, and the hate and fury dissipated instantly. Shaken, he pulled himself out of the slippery bathtub, cold sweat running in rivulets down his back, and wrapped a towel around his waist as his uncle slammed the door open.

"What's all this racket?" Uncle Vernon shouted, his face red with irritation. He caught Harry's eye and his expression became oddly concerned. "Are you ill again, boy?"

Harry shoved his glasses onto his nose and looked at himself in the mirror. He was pale and trembling, and his scar stood out red and inflamed against his forehead. Touching a finger to it, Harry was relieved to find that it wasn't bleeding. He'd almost expected it to be. "I'm fine, Uncle Vernon," he answered, looking briefly at his uncle. "I'll be in the kitchen in just minute."

Uncle Vernon cast a suspicious look at Harry, then closed the door again. Harry held onto the counter, taking deep breaths watching the color come back into his cheeks as he wondered what the hell had just happened. He'd seen and heard some of those flashes before – the green light and laughter from his nightmares and the old man from his daydream during the assembly – but where did the other ones come from? Where did the hatred come from? Harry stared into his own eyes, frightened. He'd been angry before, infuriated, and resentful and bitter, but he'd never really hated anybody or anything so strongly. Did this happen because he had activated his magic, accepted it? The men in the dark robes and the bubbling cauldron had something do with witchcraft, Harry was sure of it. He wondered what Hermione had found in the library. Maybe she would know. Dressing quickly, Harry rummaged through his bag until he found the slip of paper with her number on it and stuck it into his pocket so that he could ring her up after dinner.

* * *

"I couldn't find anything about magic, Harry," Hermione said, cradling the telephone receiver against her shoulder and looking down at her notes, which had only received one addition after her trip to the library. "One book mentioned a castle in Scotland that some of the locals liked to call 'Hogwarts.' Other than that, nothing."

"But it's out there somewhere," Harry insisted on the other line. "All of it. I know it." Lowering his voice, he told her about a shield he had made against the rain as well as some flashes of images and sounds that he'd experienced in the shower. "I don't know what they meant, but they had something to do with magic. I'm sure of it."

"I'll keep looking," she replied as she chewed her lip. "Maybe your aunt will know, though you'll be hard-pressed to find any answers from her."

"I'll try to talk to her," said Harry, sounding deflated. His voice suddenly became panicked. "I'll see you tomorrow, Hermione. Bye!" The dial tone suddenly hit her ear, and Hermione hung up the receiver, blinking at the abrupt end to their conversation. She'd spent three hours in the library searching through all of the books about magic, but there was absolutely no information about a wizarding school, current and modern magic, or any of the people mentioned in the letter. Hermione had never had such a frustrating research experience in her life, but it only made her more determined to find out more about the magical world.

From what Harry was saying, the more he used his magic, the more glimpses he had of the hidden world. Hermione contemplated whether she could also control her magic the same way Harry did. Walking upstairs to her room, she shut the door and sat on her bed, and after a moment of consideration, she turned off the light. When she was younger, she had always wished for a light so that she could read books under the covers. Maybe she could create some light using her hands.

Hermione frowned. She really had no idea how to go about this. Closing her eyes, she imagined a perfect round ball of light, glowing and pulsing in her hand. A strange warmth swelled up from the pit of her stomach and hit her shoulder, traveling down her arm slowly like pouring honey. Suddenly, her hand felt alive with something. With a gasp, Hermione opened her eyes. One of her fingernails was glowing. Well, it wasn't perfect, but at least it was something. She let out a breath that she hadn't known she was holding, and the light flickered and died. Hermione yawned suddenly, her eyes drooping as she suddenly felt very tired. Using magic must have used up all of her energy – she felt as exhausted as she had two nights ago on the front steps. Glad that she had already finished her homework, Hermione lay down on her bed and closed her eyes to fall asleep.

* * *

A loud ringing woke her. Hermione shot up out of bed, blinking. It was still dark outside, and a quick glance at her watch told her that she still had one hour to sleep before getting up to go to school. What on Earth was that noise? Why hadn't her parents awoken? Pulling on a dressing gown, Hermione padded downstairs to investigate the source of commotion. In the sitting room, the telephone was ringing loudly.

"Hello?" she said sleepily, picking up the phone.

"IS – THIS – HARRY – POTTER'S – HOUSE?"

Hermione jumped backward at the yelling and cautiously brought the phone back to her ear. "No, sir," she answered. "I'm afraid Harry Potter doesn't live here." She quickly held the telephone away from her in case the man decided to start yelling again. He did.

"DO YOU – KNOW WHERE – I CAN – FIND HIM?"

Hermione bit her lip. She didn't know who this man was, and she suspected Harry didn't either. "No, sir," she lied, feeling as if she were getting quite good at it, "I'm afraid you have the wrong number." She hung up the phone, troubled. Who would call at such an early hour? Why was the man looking for Harry and yelling? Why hadn't her parents heard the telephone as well? Was this something to do with magic?

Knowing that she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, Hermione busied herself with making breakfast for her parents, knowing that they would think it a nice surprise, her thoughts running in circles about magic, Harry, and Hogwarts.

"What happened to you?" Harry asked Hermione as she walked into the form room with dark shadows under her eyes.

She smiled ruefully, pulling back her bushy hair into a plait. "Woken by the telephone. Someone was looking for you, actually."

"Me?" Harry asked, surprised. "Why would they call your house if –"

"I don't know," Hermione said quietly, shaking her head. "It was weird. It seemed like the man didn't know how to use a telephone, and my parents didn't wake up when it rang. I think it had something to do with _magic_. Did you find out anything about it from your aunt?" she whispered.

Harry shook his head, looking extremely irritated. "No. She refused to tell me another word. I know she's hiding something, but I don't know what."

"Maybe she'll tell you eventually, just like she did with the letters," said Hermione, biting her lip.

"Maybe," he said, "but I'd rather know now. I don't want any more incidents like the one in the shower yesterday." Color crept into Hermione's cheeks. "What is it?" asked Harry, bemused.

"Nothing," she said, shaking her head and turning her eyes to the front of the room where Mrs. Garbet had begun to take attendance. The thought of Harry in the shower made her feel just a little embarrassed.

The rest of the day passed quickly. Lina's frightening behavior from the previous day had subsided a bit, though during lunch she still insistently asked – or rather ordered – Harry to dance with her at Sara's holiday party. Unable to come up with a good refusal, he spluttered a bit before resigning himself to say "yes." Afterward, Sara smiled kindly and told him that she would make it a fast song so that he wouldn't have to look at Lina for too long. Hermione couldn't help but laugh at Harry's relieved expression.

With a sigh, Hermione pulled her textbooks out of her bag and began to revise furiously for the end-of-term mock exams in the following week. As tempted as she was to keep researching magic in the library, she knew that school and GCSEs should be her top priority right now. Fortunately, Witsford had been a little more advanced in their teachings than Stonewall, so she hadn't had much trouble in her lessons so far.

Two hours later, Hermione rubbed her eyes and yawned, going downstairs to the phone to ring up her old friends. She hadn't talked to them since she'd left London over a week ago. It was difficult to believe how different her life was now from when she'd first moved to Surrey. She had a group of girl friends, knowledge of magic, and someone to share that knowledge with – Harry. Picking up the phone, Hermione dialed the number of her best friend, Matthew.

"Hello?" a boy said on the other line.

"Hi, Matthew!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Hermione?" Matthew said, sounding disbelieving. "Hi! How are you?"

"I'm fine," said Hermione. "How are things at Witsford? How is Cecilia? Daniel? Richard?"

"Things are bad all over the city, Hermione," Matthew answered slowly. "It's dangerous here. Those weird symbols have been popping up everywhere – I'm certain you've seen them, the skull with the snake as its tongue – and not even the police know where it's coming from. Random streets are getting attacked all the time – buildings just explode, and some people have been found dead with no cause. Our school – our neighborhood is safe so far, but nobody dares to venture outside past dark."

Hermione was silent, not sure how to respond.

"You're lucky that you left, Hermione," Matthew said, his voice strained. "I'm not saying that I'm glad you're gone – God knows I miss you, we all miss you so much. It's just – not safe anymore." His tone of voice changed suddenly. "How are you?" he asked with interest.

"I'm fine," said Hermione honestly, her heart aching slightly at his words. "I wanted to invite you to visit me in Surrey during the holidays. All of you. A new friend of mine is having a party next Saturday, and I'd be really happy if you could attend."

Matthew was silent for a moment. "I can't," he said bluntly. "I know Cecilia can't, either. I'm not sure about Daniel and Richard – it's been, ah, shaky between me and them lately. If the party were some other time, then maybe –"

Hermione quelled the disappointment radiating through her body. "It's fine," she said shortly. "I expect you and Cecilia have some other plans then?"

"Family," Matthew replied glumly. "My family wants to keep me trapped at home, especially with all of the crime in the city. Cecilia's, too, though she's better at convincing her parents that she needs to leave once in a while."

"And what happened between you and Daniel and Richard?"

"It's a long story," Matthew said in a small voice, which Hermione recognized immediately as his admission of guilt.

"What happened?" she asked. It was not a question.

"I – it's stupid. It involved one of Cecilia's compositions." Matthew went on to explain a tiff over the title of Cecilia's latest piece, which she had asked the boys to decide after performing it for them on the piano. Daniel and Richard had agreed on one title, while Matthew had insisted on another; soon they were arguing with each other over the merits of each title, while Cecilia sat and watched after they ignored her reminder that she, in fact, would decide on the final title.

Hermione shook her head as she listened. She and her friends had often fought over trifling issues, but they had always resolved it in some form or another. She told Matthew as much, trying to sound comforting. It had never been one of her strengths.

"Yeah," he admitted, grudgingly. "We'll sort it out. Cecilia's been cross with all three of us over the whole incident. She'll only answer questions that we ask her, but she refuses to talk to us otherwise. It's a complete mess."

"I wish I could be there to set you all straight," Hermione sighed. Cecilia was usually the one who mediated between the friends, but when she refused to do so, Hermione used to take over, even if she didn't do as good a job.

"I do too," Matthew said. "How is Surrey then? I hear you've made a new friend?"

Hermione quickly described her friendship with Harry, Katharine, Sara, and the rest of the group at the dining hall, careful to exclude any mention of Polkiss and magic. "It's so strange," she mused, "I've never had so many girl friends at once. Back home" – Hermione quickly corrected herself –"I mean, at Witsford, I always got on easier with boys than with girls. Here everything is so different."

"They're not quite friends yet, though, they seem more acquaintances of a sort," Matthew said. "Plus, you've only been there for a week. You've plenty more time to make friends with blokes. I expect they'll be swarming all over you by the time the summer hols come around."

Hermione shuddered – he'd just reminded her of rats, which reminded her of Piers Polkiss, and she usually liked to forget his existence when she was not in her maths lesson. "I'd rather not have them swarming, as you put it," she said, feeling slightly ill, "it reminds me of an infestation."

"All right," Matthew said, "I'm sorry. Look, Hermione – I have to run, my sister's been glaring at me for the past half hour because she was waiting her turn to use the phone. I'll let the others know about your party and have them ring you. What's your new phone number?"

Hermione told him, bid him farewell, and set the phone down, the conversation echoing in her head. Guilt and gratitude overcame her as she thanked her parents for moving them into Surrey, where the worst thing she had had to handle was a randy teenage bully. She mentally apologized to her friends. Although she still missed them dearly, she was secretly glad that she no longer attended school in London – the city was in a worse state than she'd thought. She'd been watching the newscasts religiously, of course, to check on the state of her old hometown, but the only thing they reported was the increased incidence of the snake-skull symbol. The newscasters had never said that people didn't leave their house at night now or that people were getting murdered. Hermione suspected that all of these strange happenings had something do with magic, but she couldn't find out until she did more research during the holidays.

With a shiver, Hermione tried and failed to turn her thoughts to the upcoming party, then she went downstairs to distract herself with the telly, which she knew would not be playing the news.


	5. Discoveries

Lingering nervously at the front door of his house and trying fruitlessly to pat his hair down, Harry waited for Hermione to pick him up for the party. He had dressed in a green jumper, black slacks, and pair of shiny black shoes that felt very stiff on his feet, and he hoped that it was appropriate. The only thing Harry knew about parties were those that his aunt and uncle sometimes attended. Uncle Vernon would bulge out of a suit and tie, while Aunt Petunia would always wear a frilly purple frock, which Harry thought made her look like an old, wrinkled version of Alice in Wonderland. Of course, he had never said that to her face.

Harry had spent the entire day cleaning the house. He'd forgotten about his cousin's return from Smeltings until Aunt Petunia had woken him up at eight o'clock sharp to scrub the kitchen floor. Under the condition that he'd be allowed to attend Sara's party if he finished all of his chores, Harry had complied with his aunt's order with a sigh, along with several cases of eye-rolling behind her back. Still, he had to admit that keeping himself occupied was better than thinking about his nightmares for hours on end. Ever since that rush of flashing experiences in the shower, Harry had been dreaming every night about terrible things. At first he couldn't remember his nightmares – he would just wake up shaking, sweating, and exhausted. Towards the end of the week, he'd started to make a conscious effort to record them. All seemed to contain some aspect of the magical world that he'd never seen before, though of course he couldn't be sure. Harry had dreamed of magical wands numerous times, as well as flashes of light accompanied by phrases in Latin, hissing noises, lots of screaming, and the image of the skull and snake that he'd seen on the newscast. Although Aunt Petunia still refused to give him any more information, Harry hoped that his dreams, coupled with Hermione's ongoing research over the holidays, would help them solve the mystery of the magical world.

Naturally, none of this information helped him with the round of mock exams he'd had to take before the term ended. Harry had studied for them half-heartedly. Less than two weeks ago, he would have tried his hardest to do well in his lessons, but figuring out magic felt so much more important right now than revising for GCSEs. Harry knew he'd probably regret this mindset later, but he had another six months to correct his priorities.

A car pulled up to the front door of the house, but Harry's heart dropped when he saw that it was only Uncle Vernon and Dudley returning from the train station. He had hoped to conveniently miss their arrival by heading to the party a little bit earlier, but it looked like he was not that lucky. Harry tensed as he heard Dudley come in through the back door, being greeted by Aunt Petunia with several exclamations of "Oh my Dudders! You've grown so handsome, popkin!"

Dudley finally lumbered into the hallway where Harry stood waiting. "Why aren't you in your cupboard?" Dudley asked nastily. "Take my trunk upstairs, you runt."

"Can't," Harry said stiffly, staring resolutely through the window. "I've a party to attend."

"You? A party?" Dudley laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. "I don't believe it. Who would want _you_ at a party?"

"A friend," Harry replied, whirling around with his fists clenched. His blonde cousin still towered over him as he'd done when they were kids. However, Dudley had also got loads wider since the last time Harry had seen him.

"You haven't _got_ any friends," Dudley smirked. "I made sure of it."

"I do now," snapped Harry, readying himself for a fight and praying that he wouldn't get into one so close to the party time. He bit back a sigh of relief as he heard knocking on the door, and he wrenched it open before Dudley could get a punch in. Hermione stood on the front steps, looking at Harry expectantly. Her parents' little blue car was waiting on the side of the road.

"Are you ready?" she asked cheerfully, her cheeks pink from the cold. She rubbed her gloved hands together and shivered.

Harry nodded and put on his coat, grinning at Dudley's flabbergasted face before slamming the door shut. He crammed into the backseat of the car next to two boys he didn't know. One was short and bulky with long, dark brown hair and dark eyes, while the other was tall and weedy with dirty blonde hair and brown eyes.

"Harry, these are my friends Daniel and Richard from my old school, Witsford," Hermione said, pulling on her seatbelt as her father drove to Sara's house. Her hair was pulled back into a long plait. "Daniel, Richard – this is Harry."

"Hello," said the weedy boy, shaking Harry's hand. "I'm Daniel."

"Pleasure to meet you," Harry answered, as the bulky boy – Richard – simply nodded with a grunt.

"I'm so excited to be going to the party," Hermione said brightly from the front seat. "Aren't you?"

"It should be fun," Daniel replied blandly. Richard grunted again. Harry was beginning to think that he didn't speak at all.

"I met Harry on my first day at Stonewall," Hermione continued. "He was the first friend I made there." Harry felt himself flush as both pairs of brown eyes swiveled toward him. He still wasn't used to such focused attention.

"How'd you two meet?" Daniel asked. "In lessons?"

"In the form room," Harry said. "We're in the same one."

Daniel let out an "ah" and fell silent. Harry fidgeted with his hands throughout the awkward car ride, as Hermione unsuccessfully tried to engage the boys in conversation. Finally, they arrived at Sara's house, which was decorated to the brim with glowing Christmas lights and reindeer. Harry took a deep breath of the cold winter air, his heart pounding as he watched Hermione ring the doorbell.

Loud music and laughter filled the air as Sara opened the door and greeted them. They followed her inside, taking off their shoes and lining them up on the hardwood floor as she requested, and then joined the group of people chatting with each other in the large living room. The living room connected to a kitchen, where people were pouring each other cups of punch from a very large bowl and making other drinks using a loud, buzzing blender and a variety of bottles and juices on the counter. Harry felt himself get dizzy for a moment. Privet Drive and school were so quiet compared to this place.

"Harry!" Lina sidled up to him, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him close. Harry practically fell down on top of her. He caught Hermione's eye, who looked at him with both amusement and exasperation before turning back to her London friends. "Harry!" Lina exclaimed again, releasing him with a giggle. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Er…sure, Lina," he answered. He watched her go into the kitchen toward the punch bowl, then he removed himself to the farthest corner of the room. A pretty Chinese girl was sitting on the couch, talking quietly to a boy with light brown hair and a warm expression. The girl caught sight of Harry and stood up, smiling.

"I'm Cho Chang," she said, holding out her hand. The boy stood up next to her. "I'm Sara's cousin."

"And I'm Ralph Ross," the boy said quickly. "Arianne's older brother. We board at the same school."

Harry shook both their hands, blinking a little as he tried to wrap his head around that connection and wondering briefly why Arianne didn't also attend the school. "I'm Harry," he told them. "Harry Potter."

Cho and Ralph both drew back in shock, gaping at him.

"What?" Harry asked nervously, running a hand through his hair. Their eyes flickered to his forehead until his fringe fell forward again.

"It's nothing," Cho said, her face pale. She gave him a strained smile.

"Harry, would you – excuse us for a moment?" Ralph asked firmly.

Harry nodded, backing toward the wall. He could hear the couple's conversation if he strained his ears a little bit.

"…to think he was living as a Muggle this whole time!"

"Maybe he's a Squib? The curse scar might have left him powerless."

"Dumbledore…" Harry leaned forward, trying to listen to Ralph. "…desperate to find him since You-Know-Who is returned…"

"Can you send a message to him after the party?"

"No, I need to send it now…don't worry, I just need quill and parchment – I mean pen and paper – "

A pair of wide brown eyes suddenly stuck themselves in front of Harry's face. "Hi, Harry!" Lina said brightly, holding out a cup of punch.

Harry took it, his eyes following Cho and Ralph. They were leaving the living room and heading toward the kitchen. Harry handed the cup back to Lina quickly. "Sorry, I'll be right back," he said, pushing past her and quickly following the couple as Lina pouted. Harry went through a door at the side of the kitchen, which connected to a small room containing a desk, a chair, and several stuffed animals. Cho and Ralph looked up when he entered.

"Harry?" Cho said with surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I told you to excuse us," Ralph said, nonplussed, his right hand resting on his jeans pocket. He was sitting down at the desk.

"Look, I –" Harry hesitated, then he felt something inside of him rise up, urging him to continue. "I know about magic. I don't know much about it – I just know that I have it. My aunt – she showed me this letter from years ago, from Dumbledore. There was something about a school, Hogwarts, and how I'd been accepted there. Hermione – my friend who's also here – she knows too. She found the same letter in her house."

Ralph's eyes narrowed. He stood up quickly and whipped a stick of wood out of his jeans pocket – a magic wand, Harry recognized from his dreams. Ralph and Cho both pointed their wands at Harry and backed him up against the door. "How do we know you are really Harry Potter?" Ralph asked.

"My – my National Insurance number," Harry said, raising his hands slowly. "It's in my purse in my pocket."

Ralph pointed his wand downward and whispered something. Harry's purse flew into Ralph's hand, and the brunette boy opened it carefully, pulling out Harry's documentation and scanning it, all the while keeping his wand fixed on Harry. "All right," Ralph said, and he lowered his wand. "Sorry about that, mate," he said, clapping Harry on the shoulder and handing him the purse.

"Look – is there a way I can contact this Dumbledore person? My aunt told me to do that, but she wouldn't tell me how," Harry said, looking between the two.

Cho and Ralph exchanged glances. "Ralph's just sent a message to Dumbledore about you," Cho answered, "so I expect you'll hear from the headmaster soon."

"Wait," Harry said desperately, as Ralph reached past him for the door handle. "Is there anything else you can tell me? Hermione and I have been trying to find out about magic for ages, but nothing's turned up."

Cho looked at him nervously and licked her lips. "We're both students at Hogwarts," she answered after a long moment of hesitation. "Dumbledore is the headmaster. If you and Hermione received letters, then you're definitely wizards."

"That's all we can tell you," Ralph said sharply, cutting her off. His voice softened. "But listen, Harry – like Cho said, Dumbledore will probably contact you soon. Take care of yourself, and keep your head down. A lot of people are looking for you, and not all of them are good."

" _Who's_ looking for me?" Harry asked, remembering the phone call Hermione had received. "Tell me. Please!"

Ralph shook his head apologetically. "Just don't go to London," he said, and he opened the door to a very red-faced Lina, who was still holding two cups of punch.

"Harry!" she cried shrilly as Ralph and Cho slipped past her to join the crowd in the living room. She smelled vaguely like alcohol. "You owe me my dance," Lina pouted, and then she giggled. "Here's your punch." She waited until he took it, then pulled him by the arm into the living room. "Come on," she said, setting her cup and his down onto a nearby table, "let's dance!" She started to gyrate wildly against him, flailing in time to the music, her curls bouncing against his face. Harry felt color rise in his cheeks as her motions sent an unwelcome but pleasant reaction throughout his body. Raising his eyes above her head, he saw Cho talking to Hermione, who glanced at him and smiled a little before continuing the conversation.

"Oh – you really like her," Lina said breathlessly, twisting around and looking toward Hermione's direction. Harry hadn't even noticed that the music had stopped. "Well –" Lina looked disappointed for a moment, but she smiled brightly again as she took a huge swig of her punch. "That's all right. Thanks for the dance, Harry. Good luck." She patted Harry's hand and plopped down next to Katharine on the sofa.

Harry went over toward Hermione, who was standing alone now, watching her friends from London mixing drinks in the kitchen. "Hi," he said.

"Hi, Harry," she said, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "Cho told me what happened. You'll be receiving a letter from Dumbledore, then?"

"I suppose," Harry said, "though I think it's only fair that he send you one too."

Hermione smiled. "Thanks, Harry," she said, her eyes straying toward Daniel and Richard again as she frowned. "Go on, enjoy the party. I'll be here."

"It's peculiar," Ralph confided to Hermione as he sipped the punch, making faces at its taste, "seeing my baby sister with a boyfriend." He nodded toward Arianne, who was swaying to music in the middle of the living room rug with her arms wrapped tightly around Will. "Do you know if they've shagged each other yet?"

Hermione choked on her water, appalled at the inappropriate question. "Pardon?"

"Hmm," Ralph muttered darkly, glaring at no one in particular, and he stalked over to the kitchen to pour himself more punch. Hermione's eyes wandered around the dimly lit living room. Cho and Harry were sitting on the sofa, chatting awkwardly. Harry was blushing red from a few cups of punch and Cho's proximity. Daniel and Richard were still making drinks in the kitchen, as they had been doing the whole night without ever stopping to talk to her, and Lina and Katharine were on either side of a couch, snogging two separate boys with varying amounts of tongue. Hermione recognized one as the freckly-faced boy in her physics class. Sara, meanwhile, was acting as a gracious hostess, visiting and chatting with the few groups of strangers that Hermione didn't know and pleasantly ignoring the couples scattered about her living room with a smile.

"How are you, Hermione?" Sara asked, taking Ralph's spot next to her.

"I'm fine," Hermione said, though in reality she was quite bored and wanted to go home.

Sara gave her a smile. "Now that I've made my rounds, I think I'll keep you company."

"Thanks," said Hermione, feeling honestly relieved. She turned to the girl next to her. "Do you have parties every year?"

Sara shook her head. "This is my first one. My parents finally decided to go on holiday this year, leaving me alone with the house. They didn't really feel comfortable with that, though, so they asked Cho to watch over me for the week. She's a bit older than I am." She glanced across the room at her cousin. "Harry seems to be enjoying her company," she remarked with a laugh.

Hermione nodded her agreement, watching as Cho stood up abruptly and strode quickly to the kitchen, her long black hair whipping behind her briefly before covering her very red face. Harry ran a hand through his hair, looking as if he were trying to calm himself in more ways than one. He looked around the room, caught Hermione's eye, and then looked away toward the wall as if he were embarrassed.

"Does Cho have a boyfriend?" Hermione asked, watching Harry closely.

"Yes, she has one from school," Sara smiled knowingly with a wicked gleam in her eye, "a boy named Cedric. He's good friends with Ralph, I think."

"I see," said Hermione, strongly suspecting that Harry had just tried to kiss Cho and failed miserably. She pondered whether or not she should ask him later, suppressing a smile as he crossed the room toward her and Sara, still looking mortified.

"Hello, Harry," Sara said with laughter in her voice. "How are you enjoying the party?"

"It's – it's great," Harry stammered feverishly, his face still very red as he tugged at the collar of his jumper. "It's a bit hot in here, isn't it? I think I might take a step outside."

"There's ice in the kitchen," Sara offered.

"You might want to put some on your face before my parents pick us up," Hermione added.

Harry nodded distractedly, looking at Cho, who was still in the kitchen talking frantically to Ralph.

"I'll go and get you some ice," said Sara, suppressing a laugh. "Sit down, Harry."

Harry followed her orders, looking down at the ground with a hint of misery. Hermione felt a touch of pity and patted him on the shoulder awkwardly. "I'm sure she wasn't a very good kisser anyways," she said sympathetically.

Harry jerked upward and looked at her, horrified. "You – you saw?"

"Well, I – not exactly," Hermione said, flustered. "She left so suddenly, so I suspected…"

Harry looked as if he didn't know whether to be relieved or more embarrassed. "Er, yeah," he mumbled, his cheeks turning an even deeper red.

"Here's the ice," Sara announced, coming over and handing Harry a very cold plastic bag wrapped in a paper towel, which he pressed to his right cheek with a sigh of relief. "Hermione, I told your friends from London to drink some water, they're starting to look a little bit drunk."

"Thank you," said Hermione, knowing her parents would not be pleased to find her friends smashed even if she were sober. Daniel and Richard were staying the night at her house, after all.

"It's getting late, so I'm going to put the punch away," Sara said, rising again. "Come and let me know when you're leaving." She smiled and left. Hermione realized suddenly that this was probably the longest conversation that they had ever had.

"Hermione," a voice said behind her. She turned around and saw Daniel looking at her very seriously. His cheeks were a little bit pink, but that could be blamed on the cold weather outside.

"Yes?" she asked, concerned.

"I saw your parents' car coming down the road. Is Harry sober?"

Next to her, Harry moved the ice pack from his right cheek to his left and nodded drowsily. "I'm fine," he said, yawning with the ice against his jaw.

Daniel shot Harry a concerned and slightly contemptuous glance. Hermione frowned – she had never seen such an expression on her friend's face. Usually Daniel was very considerate. Shaking her head, Hermione stood up to find Sara, who was attempting to dispose of all of the empty cups in the kitchen. Harry followed.

"We're leaving now," Hermione said, touching Sara's shoulder softly.

"Oh! All right. Thank you for coming to the party."

"Thank you for inviting me," said Hermione sincerely, and she started as she heard a faint knock on the front door. "Those must be my parents."

"All right. I'll see you at school then. Have a good holiday, Hermione," said Sara with a smile, and she pulled the girl into a quick hug. "You too, Harry." She grabbed the ice pack from Harry's hand, nodded at Daniel and Richard, and they grabbed their coats and opened the door.

"Hi Dad," Hermione said brightly. "We're all ready to go."

Mr. Granger looped an arm around Hermione's shoulders, leading her to the car as the three boys followed. "Did you have fun?" he asked.

"Loads," Hermione half-lied. It had been a little fun to see her friends from Stonewall, but she had barely talked with Daniel and Richard, which she had been hoping to do. Although the two boys had arrived at her house right after lunch, they'd only spoken with her for less than an hour before claiming that they needed to take a nap. Daniel had explained flatly that they hadn't slept all week due to exams, and Hermione acquiesced after seeing the very dark circles under both boys' eyes. Still, she thought resentfully, they ought to have been well-rested by the time of the party and talked to her there more than once.

At least she and Harry had found out a little bit about magic. It wasn't fair that the headmaster of Hogwarts would only contact Harry, but she was certain that Harry would show her Dumbledore's letter once he received it.

"How about you fellows?" Mr. Granger asked, looking behind him. "Did you have fun?"

Richard grunted in agreement, while Daniel replied "yes." Harry said "yes, sir," sleepily, and he clambered into the car, pressing his cheek against the window as Mr. Granger drove to Privet Drive. Hermione looked behind her. Harry looked like he was dozing off, while Daniel and Richard's faces were blank. She frowned, pondering her old friends' standoffish behavior. Even though she had never been as close to Daniel and Richard as to Matthew and Cecilia, they had shared several good memories in their four years of friendship. A mere two weeks of absence couldn't destroy such camaraderie. She hadn't even been involved in the fight over Cecilia's music that Matthew had mentioned on the phone, so they couldn't be angry at her over that. Hermione chewed on her lip, puzzled. What had she done to make them treat her so coldly during their visit?

Hermione watched as the car pulled up to Harry's house and he stumbled through the front door. He hadn't seemed that drunk after the Cho incident, but perhaps the adrenaline had kept him coherent. She turned her attention back to the boys in the backseat. They were still staring at her blankly, very unlike the warm and lively friends she'd once known. She resolved to talk to them once they arrived at her house. Something was definitely wrong, and she needed to find out.

"Speak," Hermione commanded, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She blocked the doorway to the guest room and glared at the two boys in front of her.

"About what?" Richard grunted, looking irritable as he unzipped his bag and pulled out a pair of pajamas with pictures of computer mice, looking at them with disgust.

"About why you're treating me like this!" Hermione exclaimed furiously.

Daniel gave her a smile that did not reach his normally warm brown eyes. "We're sorry, Hermione, we're just a little tired," he said coldly.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. She didn't believe that at all. "I let you nap for the entire afternoon."

"Look – it's just the exams," Daniel said, his expression softening slightly, though his eyes remained chips of ice. "They've been really rough this year, and we haven't slept this week at all."

"I know how difficult the exams are! I went to your school, in case you don't remember. That's never stopped you from talking to me before," Hermione shouted shrilly, frustrated, and hoping her parents wouldn't wake up at the noise. "You two barely said a word to me at the party!"

Daniel and Richard exchanged exasperated glances with each other.

"Hermione," Richard began with a pleading expression that turned into a grimace, "could you please let us sleep?" He checked his watch, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Not until you tell me what's going on," she answered with a scowl, her cheeks flushed with anger. "I thought you would be excited to visit me. You came all the way from London, for God's sake! What's changed? Why won't you talk to me?"

Daniel muttered something under his breath as Richard cleared his throat. "Hermione," Richard said, his fists clenching, "it's very late and we're very, very drunk. If you don't leave the room this instant, we might just have to cur—"

"—kick you out," Daniel finished with a glare at Richard.

Hermione stared at her old friends, her jaw dropping at the threat as she tried to calm her racing heart. "First of all," she said scathingly, adopting the tone of voice her mother used when she knew Hermione was lying to her, "you cannot kick me out of my own house. Secondly, I will not leave this room until you tell me why you've been treating me so atrociously. And thirdly, if you use _exams_ as an excuse one more time, I will not hesitate to hit you upside the head. _Hard!_ "

Both boys looked taken aback as Hermione stood there, her chest heaving with anger. Daniel's eyes flickered. "You'd have to still be in London to understand," he said stiffly, and he turned away.

"Please leave," Richard repeated, sounding genuinely tired, "it's for your own good." He grabbed the door handle and slowly swung it toward her direction, forcing her to back up into the hallway. The click of the lock echoed loudly in her ears as she stood outside the door, stunned and hurt. She tried to press her ear against the door to listen to what they were saying, but all she heard was silence. Pushing back the tears forming in her eyes, she ran upstairs and threw herself on the bed, gripping the covers with shaking hands as the conversation replayed over and over in her head, pulling her into a fitful sleep.

* * *

Hermione woke the next morning to the sounds of faint conversation and clinking cutlery. Blearily changing out of her party clothes, she went downstairs, surprised to see bacon, eggs, and toast laid out on the table and Daniel and Richard chatting genially to her parents. Daniel looked up at her and gave her an apologetic smile. "Richard and I made breakfast to make up for our behavior last night," he told her, patting the empty seat next to him.

She sat down, eyeing him warily. "Thank you," she said, taking a plate and helping herself to some eggs. Her father was talking animatedly to Richard about the newest type of dental implants available, while her mother occasionally joined in with corrections. Richard, for his part, appeared to be interested, nodding in response as he wolfed down eggs at an alarming rate.

"Hermione tells me you're a genius with computers," her father said to Richard suddenly. "Maybe you could take a look at ours in the office. I've been having trouble using this new program called Windows 95. I expect you'd know all about it, though," he laughed.

Richard coughed and choked on his eggs, looking panicked. "Yes, sir," he stammered, "Windows 95, it's brilliant, it is." He hastily shoved more eggs into his mouth, sending a wide-eyed, imploring look at Daniel, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged. Hermione frowned. When Windows 95 was released a few months ago, he'd talked about it for weeks to anyone who had the patience to listen.

"How are you boys going to return to the city?" Mrs. Granger asked, placing the last piece of toast on Hermione's plate. Hermione took a bite. It tasted like cardboard.

"My parents are going to pick us up near the library," Daniel replied calmly, "if you wouldn't mind dropping us off there."

"Not at all," said Mrs. Granger. "What time are they expecting you?"

"Nine-thirty," said Daniel, glancing at Hermione's watch. There was half an hour left.

"That's plenty of time," said Hermione's father. "Hermione, didn't you want to visit the library again today? Why don't you come with us? You can say your good-byes while you wait with them."

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "That'd be lovely," she lied. Although she still wanted to figure out her friends' strange behavior, she felt uneasy at the thought of spending more time with them than she had to. There was something off about their entire visit.

After a silent car ride, Daniel pulled her into a stiff hug at the entrance of the library, releasing her at arms' length and stepping away quickly. Richard did the same, patting her back once before turning away. "I'll just be in the library then," said Hermione, looking around and noticing that no cars were waiting to pick the boys up.

"Go on then, we'll be fine waiting here," said Daniel.

Hermione nodded, turning around and slowly opening the front doors. Once she was inside, she heard a loud crack like a gunshot and whipped around to see if her friends were all right. No one was there.

* * *

Harry frowned as he picked up the letter lying on the door mat, massaging his temples briefly to get rid of his headache. Post didn't come on Sundays. The envelope was addressed to Aunt Petunia, and on the back was a wax seal that Harry recognized from the Hogwarts letter. He frowned. Was Dumbledore trying to contact him? Why would he send a letter to Aunt Petunia instead of Harry?

Heading into the kitchen, he nibbled at a piece of a toast while his aunt finished frying the eggs. She hadn't made him cook breakfast this weekend as she normally did. Harry was enjoying not having to do chores all the time anymore. Perhaps he would be able to find a real job with all of this spare time.

"You have a letter," he said without preamble as she set down the eggs on the table.

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped, "there's no post on Sundays."

"I know that," Harry said, annoyed, "but I found this on the door mat this morning." He handed his aunt the Hogwarts letter, impatiently waiting for her to open it. Her face went pale as she read. "What does it say?" he asked.

Aunt Petunia looked up, looking very irritable. "You managed to contact him then," she bit out, "Dumbledore."

"Yes, and a fat load of help you were," Harry muttered under his breath.

Aunt Petunia glared. "What was that?"

"Nothing, Aunt Petunia," replied Harry, trying to look innocent. "What does the letter say?"

"He's coming in the afternoon," she answered, gripping the letter so tightly that her knuckles went white. "At two o'clock."

"Oh. That's nice. Does he want to talk to me?" asked Harry, resisting the urge to stand next to her and read the letter himself.

"Yes," she snapped, "both of us. Now stop asking questions and go to your room."

Grabbing the last piece of toast, Harry shrugged and went upstairs, thinking excitedly about Dumbledore's visit. He contemplated ringing up Hermione to tell her about the visit, but decided that she was probably busy spending time with her friends from London. They hadn't seemed particularly friendly to Harry, but he was still adjusting to social situations. Maybe someone who had made friends before the age of fifteen could make good conversation. Harry knew he couldn't.

There was a loud banging on his door. Harry scowled, pulled it open, and came face-to-face with his whale of a cousin. "What do you want, Dudley?"

"Why aren't you cooking breakfast?" Dudley sneered.

"Your mum cooked," Harry answered, "but I bet you were too much of a bloody idiot to check before bothering me about it."

Dudley's small, squinty eyes narrowed, and he reached out and shoved Harry backward. Harry stumbled a little, but stood his ground, glaring. "Go downstairs and eat, Dudley," he said, "I've heard pigs like you need loads of food." He slammed the door shut in his cousin's enraged face and locked it for good measure, biting back a laugh Dudley banged on the door for another five minutes.

Uncle Vernon shouted from the end of the hallway. "Boy! Why are you making so much ruddy noise in the – oh. Dudley. What's the matter?"

"Harry won't let me into my old room," Dudley whined pathetically as if he were ten years old.

Uncle Vernon cleared his throat and knocked on the door. "Boy! Open the door this instant!"

Harry took a sharp, exasperated breath and threw open the door. "Yes, Uncle Vernon?" he said with a scowl. Dudley smirked nastily.

"You're to leave the door unlocked at all times," Uncle Vernon said, puffing his chest out.

Harry sighed, knowing that Dudley would barge in and destroy the room as soon as he got the chance. "Yes, Uncle Vernon."

Uncle Vernon cleared his throat and turned to his son. "Come on, Dudders, let's go and eat some breakfast. We'll bring our plates into the living room so we can watch the telly at the same time."

Dudley shot Harry a nasty smile, walking down the stairs. Harry rolled his eyes and sprawled out on top of his bed, savoring the freedom from school, his mind wandering restlessly as he thought about Dumbledore's visit. What would the headmaster tell him? Would he explain the strange dreams Harry had been having, the incident with Polkiss on the steps? What about the school, Hogwarts? Why were he and Hermione magical when their parents weren't?

Harry heard a shriek, followed by the loud sound of china shattering, and he jumped up out of bed, sitting down on the bottommost stair and listening to the argument in the kitchen.

"You mean to tell me that – that the boy – knows?" Uncle Vernon sounded horrified.

"I told him, Vernon," Aunt Petunia responded.

"Y-you – but why?"

"The attacks in London…I think it had to do with _their_ world." The last part was said in a quiet, secretive way. Harry had to lean forward to hear it. "The boy – you read the letter when we found him on our doorstep, Vernon! He's a sort of – savior to their world."

"But Petunia, my dear, those attacks are just workings of an evil criminal gang! The bobbies will take care of it," said Uncle Vernon, though he didn't sound very confident.

"No," Aunt Petunia said in a rush, "I've seen that awful mark before, I know it's something to do with that freaky world of my sister's!" Harry's eyes widened. "I thought – maybe if we sent the boy back to them, he'd be able to put a stop to all of this – this crime."

"Well, I suppose you're right, dear," Uncle Vernon replied, still sounding uncertain. "But – suppose that he's not – a freak? I haven't seen any funny business from him since that time at the zoo. Perhaps we squashed it out of him after all with our chores."

There was a pause, as if Aunt Petunia were considering something. "Perhaps," she finally said. "Nothing _has_ happened since he turned eleven, has it?" Harry thought back to Stonewall's front steps, shielding himself from Polkiss and the rain.

"So – so this old coot is still coming to our house? We can't stop him?" Uncle Vernon asked.

"He's insisted," Aunt Petunia said in a strained voice. "Vernon, dear, why don't you take Dudley to the sports goods shop at that time? It'll be good for you two to have some time alone."

"Yes – yes, I'll do that," Uncle Vernon blustered. "Wonderful idea."

Harry lay back down on his bed, his mind brimming with even more questions. Had his mother also been a witch? What did the snake-skull image mean? Why did his aunt and uncle want to stop him from being magical? The disappearing glass must have been magic, according to what Uncle Vernon said. Why hadn't they told him earlier? And most importantly, what did Aunt Petunia mean when she said he was a savior to "their" world – the magical world?


	6. Decisions

Harry raced excitedly down the stairs at the rapping on the front door. Opening it, he saw a tall old man with a very long, very white beard wearing an oddly cut plum velvet suit standing on the steps, beaming at Harry through the half-moon spectacles resting on his crooked nose. "Harry Potter, I presume?"

"Yes, sir, that's me," said Harry, moving back and allowing entrance into the house, suppressing a chuckle at the man's flamboyant suit. "Are you Headmaster Dumbledore?"

"I am," the old man nodded with a twinkle in his eye. "If you would be so kind as to fetch your aunt, dear boy, and bring her to the living room, we have many things to discuss."

Harry waffled a moment between getting Aunt Petunia from upstairs and showing Dumbledore to the living room, but Dumbledore was already making his way through the kitchen. Running upstairs, Harry knocked on his aunt's bedroom door. "Aunt Petunia?"

Aunt Petunia opened the door slowly, looking very pale and tense. "He's here, then?"

Harry nodded. "He's in the living room."

Aunt Petunia muttered something sounding like, "On my own head be it," and followed down the stairs apprehensively. Dumbledore was sitting in armchair by the fireplace, looking around the room with interest. His eyes stopped on the mantelpiece, upon which lay several framed pictures of Dudley at various ages, but none of Harry.

"Ah, Petunia," he said, in a slightly cold voice. "It has been a long time since we've corresponded."

Aunt Petunia pursed her lips and settled herself down shakily on the sofa. Harry did the same, subtly scooting as far away from her as possible. Physical contact with his relatives always made him uncomfortable. When he was younger, close physical contact meant being grabbed by the hair or ear, or in Dudley's case, being pushed. When he became older, physical contact just became odd.

Dumbledore leaned forward. "I'm sure you have lots of questions for me, Harry," he said, in a gentle but firm voice.

"Er – yes," Harry said, not sure where to begin. "Firstly – I – so I'm a – a wizard?" he asked disbelievingly. The word "wizard" felt strange on his tongue, as if he had never said it in his life.

"That you are, Harry," said Dumbledore seriously. "I must admit that I was – surprised to see you reject an education at Hogwarts when you were eleven. I thought that you would want to learn about your abilities as much as possible."

"But sir," Harry protested, "I didn't even know about Hogwarts until two weeks ago. Aunt Petunia" –his aunt hissed "Boy!" venomously—"didn't show me the acceptance letters until then."

"Ah, I see," Dumbledore said, staring very hard at Aunt Petunia as she shrank under his gaze. "I do apologize. It appears we had a miscommunication."

Harry glanced at his aunt suspiciously. She averted her eyes and began looking very intently at the opposite corner of the sofa, twisting her hands in her lap.

"Your aunt wrote back to me saying that you had shown no signs of magic, and that attending Hogwarts would be – how was it phrased? – 'disappointing and useless'," Dumbledore explained, still staring at Aunt Petunia. "I must confess that I believed her until very recently, when traces of magical activity were detected in the area surrounding your secondary school." He turned to look at Harry with piercing blue eyes. Harry rapidly debated whether or not to tell the wizard about the shields against the rain and Polkiss, then decided to do so, describing each incident in detail and flushing a little when he described the fight with Polkiss. Dumbledore listened intently, his eyes betraying no signs of surprise.

"I've also had these visions," Harry added. "I feel and see flashes of things." He described the glimpses he'd been having of the magical world. "Most of them are really frightening," he admitted. "The first time – I thought my head was going to split open along my scar, and I felt this awful pure hatred run through me. I'd never felt that before."

"How long ago did this happen?" Dumbledore asked. "Your first vision?"

Harry thought quickly. "About a week ago, sir."

Dumbledore nodded, frowning and considering something for a moment. "I see."

"Sir –" Harry began uncertainly. Dumbledore smiled at him. "I heard Aunt Petunia say that I was a sort of, er, savior to the magical world, and that my mother might have been a witch. Do you think you could tell me -?" He glanced again at Aunt Petunia, who was clenching her fists very tightly.

Dumbledore's smile disappeared instantly, and he turned his piercing gaze back onto Harry's aunt. "Petunia," he said frostily.

Aunt Petunia exploded. "Yes – all right – yes! You are a w-wiz – how could you not be, with my freaky sister and her freaky husband and that freaky world of theirs! I just wanted a nice, normal life with a nice, normal husband and nice, normal son! But then _you_ landed on my doorstep after your _parents_ got herself blown up trying to protect you!"

Harry felt as if all of the breath had been taken out of him. He stared at her, completely floored, his face white and his eyes wide in shock. He'd suspected earlier that Aunt Petunia lied to him about his parents' deaths, but he'd never realized that they'd given up their lives for his.

Clenching her skirt, Aunt Petunia spat, "I was so afraid that you were going to become just like her – my perfect, darling, _magical_ little sister, that you were going to contaminate my house with your freakiness! You had all of the same signs – all of those freaky incidents in primary school, Dudders' birthday at the zoo – imagine my relief when all of it stopped once you entered secondary school! I was so happy, I thought Vernon and I had managed to rid you of it with all of our chores and our punishments, I thought I would finally be able to live a normal life!" Her voice rose hysterically. "Then I saw those awful freaky marks on the news, and I knew that there was no escape! The only way I could ever live the life I wanted was to send you back so you could kill the – the freak who tried to kill you!"

"What?" Harry gasped, trying to make sense of what his aunt had just screamed. "Kill who?"

Aunt Petunia said nothing. She stood up, pale and trembling, and pointed an accusing finger at Dumbledore. "Ask _him_ ," she snapped, and she stalked out of the living room, slamming the door shut behind her.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, feeling dizzy as he tried to work out his thoughts. A headache was forming near his temples.

"Perhaps we should have begun our conversation another way," said Dumbledore quietly. "Harry, please look at me." Harry raised his head, and Dumbledore began to explain that Voldemort had tried to kill Harry because a prophecy had suggested that Harry was a threat to him; Harry's mother had begged Voldemort to spare her child's life for hers, invoking an ancient magic that protected Harry from being murdered and caused Voldemort to kill himself instead and give Harry his scar; Harry was famous among wizards for defeating Voldemort as well as surviving the Killing Curse, both of which were still considered impossible.

"But I just got lucky," Harry protested, his mind still racing to process this new information about his life. "I mean – I was lucky enough to have a good mum who knew how to protect me using this – this ancient magic." Pride swelled within him as he said those words. He'd never once been able to say or hear a good thing about his parents.

"I am glad you think so," Dumbledore said gently, "but it was certainly not just luck working that night. Your mother chose to defend you until the very end, although Voldemort gave her a chance to step aside and live. She did not know the effects of her sacrifice – she did not call upon the ancient magic intentionally – but it was her love for you that invoked it, her love for you that ultimately protected you from the curse."

"Her love for me…" Harry repeated, his throat tightening. A wave of guilt washed over him as he realized suddenly that he didn't even know his mother's name or what she looked like. That someone would sacrifice her life for him was amazing to Harry, even if that someone was his own mother. Until recently, he had always thought that he would go through life alone, quietly minding his own business without friends or family who cared. Meeting Hermione had changed that mindset slightly, but knowing that his mother had loved him so much to die for him…the thought filled Harry with a deep, unfamiliar, and painful longing.

"Harry," Dumbledore said. His voice was still gentle, but his expression was grim, making Harry snap to full attention. "You mentioned earlier that you saw an image in your dreams – that of a skull with a snake as its tongue."

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir, the same ones as in London."

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "The image of the skull and snake is known as the Dark Mark. Voldemort and his followers, the Death Eaters, cast the Dark Mark into the sky after committing murder."

"Murder?" Harry echoed, his face pale.

"Yes, though there have been no bodies found after the attacks in London. If Voldemort is building up an army of Inferi…" Dumbledore frowned, lost in thought.

"Inferi, sir?" Harry asked, pronouncing the term carefully. "And I thought that Voldemort was – dead, sir."

Dumbledore turned to Harry, his face suddenly full of sorrow. "Oh, my dear boy," he murmured, "if I could have avoided this…if I could have investigated more…"

"Sir?" Harry said tentatively, shifting uncomfortably.

Dumbledore's face turned grim again. "You did not kill Voldemort so much as you defeated him," he replied. "When the Killing Curse hit your forehead and rebounded onto him, his body was destroyed, but his soul managed to survive, though by what means I'm not quite sure. He existed for many years in spirit form – indeed, he possessed one of my professors four years ago – and managed to regain part of his physical body. He is now seeking to complete his body with the help of the Death Eaters, who have also been wreaking havoc in London with his approval."

"What do you mean – part of his body, sir?" Harry asked, puzzled. "Does he only have a torso, or half a face?"

"I believe that he currently looks something like a baby, though he can still speak and use his wand. You know about wands, I hope?"

Harry thought of Ralph and Cho at the party, and he couldn't help but grin a little. "Yes."

"Good." Harry quickly sobered at Dumbledore's somber tone. "Harry, I wish I did not have to tell you this now. I cannot understate how deeply I regret not investigating your Hogwarts admission sooner, as this would have been much easier."

"What would, sir?" Harry asked, confused.

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Now that Voldemort has come back, he is after you once more. If you come with me, my colleagues and I will be able to train you in magic should you ever need to defend yourself against him or his followers."

"Come with you?" Harry's brow creased. "To Hogwarts?" Several things flashed through his mind: his GCSEs in June, his newly made friends at Stonewall, his grudgingly respectful relationship with his aunt and uncle, the familiarity of Privet Drive and the area around it, Hermione –

"Not to Hogwarts, no," Dumbledore answered. "Your appearance there would be quite a disturbance, I'm afraid. We would train you in a different location – in the home of the Weasley family. Mrs. Weasley is an excellent cook, and her son Ronald is around the same age as you are. He attends Hogwarts right now."

Harry frowned, his hands twisting in his lap. The thought of a new life was exciting, especially a life with magic, but he wasn't sure he was ready to give up his life here. He'd just made new friends, his aunt and uncle were finally starting to respect him, and he was well on his way to finishing his GCSEs and going along with his life plans. On the other hand, if this Voldemort character succeeded in killing him, all of that would be gone in an instant, especially if he didn't know how to fight back. "Sir," said Harry slowly, his mind wavering between "go" and "stay," "Can I have some time to – think about all of this?"

"Of course," Dumbledore replied kindly. "Although I have no wish to rush you, I would advise you to make your decision quickly. Danger lurks ever nearer, and usually in places where we don't expect to find it."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, alarmed. "Am I in danger here?"

" _Here_ , no," Dumbledore answered, "but I do not know about elsewhere. Ah, well then, Harry," he said, standing up and pulling something out of his pocket, "do not hesitate to contact me." He handed Harry a small, square mirror, and Harry took it uncertainly. "Just say my name – Albus Dumbledore – into it, as well as the phrase 'lemon drop,' and I will appear on the other side," Dumbledore said, the twinkle returning to his eye. "It's much like those delightful machines you have, those – telephones, I believe they're called. Happy Christmas, Harry."

Harry turned the mirror over in his hands, examining it carefully. There was nothing on the back, just a smooth gray slate. When he looked up, Dumbledore was gone.

Lying on his bed, Harry frowned and rubbed his eyes, setting the wrinkled Hogwarts letter down next to him as he tried to gather his thoughts. The more he thought about magic, the more torn he was between staying at Privet Drive and Stonewall and leaving for Hogwarts and wizarding training. He hadn't exactly had a good life in Surrey, but it was familiar – he'd spent his whole life here, after all – and the thought of going home every day to his room was oddly comforting, especially since his aunt and uncle had stopped giving him so many chores and were now feeding him more. However, magic was a part of him that he wanted – needed – to learn how to use, and sometimes he felt giddy just thinking of how much he could do with it. Spells and broomsticks and cauldrons! Curses and hexes against bullies like Polkiss and Dudley, wonderful creations for his friends like Hermione! Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair unconsciously as someone banged on the door loudly. "Who is it?" he asked, even though he already knew.

Dudley wrenched the door open, sneering smugly down at Harry. Harry sat up, annoyed. "What do you want, _Dudders_?"

"I saw Piers Polkiss at the shop today," said Dudley, his squinty blue eyes narrowing and practically disappearing into his face.

"So?" Harry asked, startled. "I thought you two didn't talk anymore."

"He said you were a _freak_ ," Dudley sneered.

"You and Polkiss have been calling me that since I was six," Harry said in a bored tone, though his heart was suddenly pounding furiously. He definitely didn't want Dudley to know about magic – Aunt Petunia would throw a fit or worse.

"He said you _did_ something to him," Dudley said, screwing up his face as if he had difficulty continuing. "You and your _girlfriend_."

"I – don't have a girlfriend," Harry replied, "and I didn't do anything to him. Now sod off." He crossed the room and made to close the door, but Dudley grabbed his arm. "Christ, Dudley," Harry snapped, jerking out of Dudley's grip, "what do you want? Leave me alone!"

Dudley grinned nastily and said his favorite word. "No."

"Come on," Harry wheedled. "Wouldn't you rather blow up aliens on your computer or something?"

"No."

Harry rolled his eyes. "What about the telly?"

Dudley scowled. "Daddy's watching the news."

"Er…how about stealing some sweets from the pantry?"

"No." Dudley crossed his arms in front of his chest and stood in the doorway, trying to look menacing but failing horribly. Harry used to be scared of his cousin, but he'd realized today that he was actually taller than Dudley, who over the term had grown horizontally to the size of a humpback whale. Stifling a snicker, Harry pulled on his coat and scarf and pushed past his cousin. Dudley stared at him dumbly. "Where are you going?"

"If you're not leaving, than I am," Harry answered, adding, "I'll be back for dinner."

A chilly wind bit Harry's face as he stepped outside and walked in the direction of the play park, still contemplating whether or not to leave his life behind and start a new one in the magical world. Magic was his birthright; it was a part of himself that he could never get rid of, as Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had proved – not that he would want to anyway. Then again, his life in Surrey so far was one he had created for himself – something he knew he could control, something that was _his_ , and something, when he thought about it carefully, of which he was rather proud. He had endured years of childhood torments here, got good marks and set goals for himself despite his endless chores, gone through nearly fourteen years of school with no friends, managed to grow taller even without much food (until now) – yes, he was proud that he had survived this life, and he wanted to have his exam scores and his friendships to show for it. On the other hand, if he chose to accept Dumbledore's offer of magical training, he would be thrust into a completely unfamiliar setting, where he didn't know left from right, right from wrong, who to trust and who to stay away from….

With a sigh, Harry sat down on one of the swings, ice cracking ominously as he did so. He rubbed his hands together, shivering, wishing he had remembered to put on gloves, and stared into the quiet dark surrounding him. The faint glow of streetlamps cast dim shadows against the pavement, and he wondered, not for the first time, whether there was a device that could capture the light into itself with a simple click. It was a crazy idea, but he was sure he had dreamed about something like that as a child.

Harry whipped around at the sudden rustling behind him. He squinted, looking into the bushes behind the swing set. "Hello?" he called tentatively, taking a step forward. "Is anybody there?"

Silence answered him. Frowning in puzzlement, Harry stared for a few more seconds and then turned around, quickly walking back to his house, his breath creating little white puffs in the hair. He was halfway there when he heard a strange, rhythmic pattering behind him. Harry stopped suddenly, his stomach full of dread, and turned around slowly. "Hello?" he called again, to the empty stretch of street. He squinted, and for a second, he thought he saw a shimmering outline of a tall man near one of the lampposts. Harry blinked and looked again. There was no one there. Remembering how Dumbledore had disappeared from the living room without a sound, Harry wondered whether a wizard was following him as Dumbledore's words echoed in his mind: "Danger lurks ever nearer…"

His breath catching, Harry quickened his pace and nearly ran back to Number 4, the icy wind cutting his lungs as he gasped. He slammed the door shut behind him as soon as he was inside, hanging up his coat with shaking hands. Uncle Vernon came into the hallway, scowling. "What are you doing making so much noise, boy?" he barked. "Do you think we appreciate your ruckus?"

"Sorry, Uncle Vernon," Harry said, panting.

Uncle Vernon glared. "Petunia just finished making dinner," he said gruffly, "and it's a good thing you came back in time, boy, because she wasn't even going to feed you. Well, hurry up!" He turned, muttering under his breath about damn ungrateful teenagers. Harry followed, his stomach growling loudly as he cast one last worried glance at the front door.

* * *

Hermione listened to Harry's story with a mixture of amazement and frustration as she sat in the café, sipping her tea. She was rather angry that Harry hadn't asked her to come to his house so that she could also meet Dumbledore, especially since she had wasted the whole day yesterday looking for information in the library, and she was also suspicious of Dumbledore's motives. The story about Voldemort and Harry's need for magical training seemed a little too convenient. She told Harry so, adding, "It's the perfect excuse to take you away, isn't it? Telling you that you're in danger and that you need to go somewhere else to be safe?"

Harry's eyes flashed. "Are you saying he lied about my parents' deaths?"

"No," said Hermione, frowning into her teacup. "I think Dumbledore's telling the truth about your parents – your aunt's story also confirmed it. I just think that there's something fishy about his offer. Why can't he train you in your own house? Why do you have to give up everything here? I'm sure he could find a way to let you continue going to school and learn about magic on the side – on the weekends, perhaps."

Harry considered this for a moment. "Well, Hogwarts is a school, right? So I expect four years' worth of training can't just be learned on the weekends. Plus, my aunt hates magic. She definitely wouldn't allow it."

"That's another thing," said Hermione. "Why did he only contact you now? If he really wanted you to learn how to defend yourself, he should've made you learn magic _before_ the threat of Voldemort appeared, not afterward."

Harry looked at her mulishly, lowering his voice as he looked around the café in which they'd met. "He didn't think I was wizard until now, so I don't think I could've gone done that anyway."

"Didn't Cho say that if we received letters, then we were definitely…magical? We both could've gone to Hogwarts if we'd written a response before our parents did. I mean – not your parents – your aunt," she said apologetically, catching Harry's expression. "Harry, I think the whole thing sounds a little suspicious. How do you know he's actually going to train you? What if he takes you away and does something – something awful?"

"It's a chance I have to take," Harry said with an edge to his voice. "I'm certain that someone – a wizard – followed me home yesterday from the play park. What if he decides to do it again and casts a curse or something? I won't be able to defend myself because I decided not to get trained."

"But what if it's Dumbledore who casts a curse on you after he takes you away?" Hermione countered. "Then, you won't even be on the street where there are other people around. You'll be in some stranger's house where you don't even know how to get help."

"Look – Hermione," Harry said, annoyed, "I don't have any other choice! Dumbledore's the only one who can teach me magic – you said yourself that you couldn't find any information in the library, and I'm definitely not going to be able to get any from my aunt."

"You're going with him then?" Hermione asked, trying to keep her voice even as her cheeks flushed with anger and hurt. She couldn't believe Harry was abandoning her after she'd spent so much effort trying to befriend him; she recalled Daniel and Richard's cold, repulsed behavior toward her and felt stung.

Harry nodded distractedly, looking out the window. "I wasn't going to," he said, turning back to her, his green eyes pleading, "but – I _need_ to. It's the only way."

"But –" Hermione sighed and stopped at the determined look on Harry's face. "Fine. But I'm going with you."

"What?" Harry's eyes widened comically.

"That's right," she said firmly, sounding more confident than she felt. "I'm going with you. Do you think I would just let you go alone with some strange old man to a strange place? What kind of friend would I be if I let you do that?"

"But – you have friends here – your parents –" Harry spluttered.

"I know," said Hermione quietly, "but Harry, I'm not going to give up a chance to learn about magic. It's a part of myself that I've never had the chance to understand. Don't think for one moment that I'm going to let you go off and receive training while I stay here and pretend that I know nothing. I couldn't bear it."

Harry was looking at her with an unreadable expression. Slowly, he reached across the table and grasped her hand, squeezing it for the slightest of moments before retracting it quickly, his cheeks flushing a deep red. "I suppose I wouldn't mind if you came with me," he said slowly. "I'll just have to tell Dumbledore about it, that's all."

" _We'll_ tell Dumbledore about it," Hermione corrected. "We're doing this together, remember? Besides, I have a few questions for the man, headmaster or not. How are you going to contact him?"

"He gave me this mirror," Harry said, pulling a square gray mirror out of his pocket. "Said it works like a telephone if I say his name and passphrase." He held it in front of his face, about to speak, but Hermione grabbed his wrist.

"Let's go to my house," she said, standing up briskly and leading Harry to the door. "I think it's best if we do this in private." Her glance swept across the café. She had the feeling that someone was staring at them from the corner, but when she turned to look, she saw nothing. Shivering suddenly, she remembered Harry's stalker from the previous night and abruptly exited the café, Harry quickly catching up to her panicked stride.

"What's wrong?"

"I thought I saw…nothing," said Hermione, turning the corner as she walked toward her house. The wind bit her nose and cheeks, and she wrapped her scarf around more tightly. "The – the person who followed you last night, could you see him? Or her?"

"Not exactly," said Harry. "I never really saw him – I just heard him. Was there somebody in the café?"

"No – no – I'm sure it was nothing," Hermione replied. "I thought I _felt_ someone watching us…" Color rose in her cheeks, and she fumbled with the keys in her hand. "Anyway, come in. My parents won't be home for another hour." She led Harry to the living room, her gaze trailing on the empty bookshelves and still undecorated walls. Three big, unpacked boxes sat in the corner between the fire place and the television. Harry perched on the edge of the couch, taking out the mirror and turning it over and over in his hands.

"Well?" said Hermione, sitting down next to him and looking at the mirror curiously. There was nothing unusual about it; it could have been found in any girl's bag for makeup.

Harry cleared his throat and held the mirror at arm's length in front of his face. "Albus Dumbledore," he stated, and then, "lemon drop."

Swirling smoke drifted across the surface of the mirror, and a moment later, an old, wrinkled face with long white hair and blue eyes stared back at them. "Ah, Harry," Dumbledore said with a smile, "I was wondering when you'd be contacting me."

"Sir," Harry said with a nod, relaxing his arm and bringing the mirror closer to his face. He turned the mirror so that Dumbledore could see Hermione. "This is my friend, Hermione Granger."

"Pleased to meet you, sir," Hermione said, feeling a bit foolish.

Dumbledore's brow knitted, and he looked at her with an assessing gaze. "How do you do, Miss Granger?" he asked.

"I'm well, sir," Hermione said politely, taking a deep breath and ready to launch into a stream of questions.

Dumbledore cut her off. "Miss Granger, if I may ask, how do you know Harry?"

"I met him at Stonewall, sir – our secondary school," she replied. "He was the first friend I made after I moved here from the city."

"London?" Dumbledore's face enlarged as he leaned in to look at her more closely, his piercing blue eyes boring into her. "How long ago did you leave London?"

"About three weeks ago, sir," Hermione answered nervously, wondering why she was being interrogated.

"And do humor me for a moment – what secondary school did you attend in the city?"

"The Witsford School."

"Ah," said Dumbledore, frowning, and then he smiled politely. "I believe I interrupted you earlier. Please continue."

"Well –" Hermione froze, thinking of how to begin.

"She's like me, sir," Harry said next to her, quietly, as he tilted the mirror towards him. "She just found out about Hogwarts when she was unpacking her things from London. The traces of magic you found at Stonewall…it wasn't just my magic, sir, it was also hers. She also created a white shield, though hers was instantaneous unlike mine – I think…" He turned to Hermione quizzically, and she nodded. Harry took a deep breath, looking as if he were steeling his resolve. "Sir, I've – decided to accept your offer. I'll go with you to learn about magic – but only if Hermione can go too."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, looking impressed. "I have no problem with Miss Granger coming along," he said, "but I suspect other people will." Hermione bristled. "Coming along" indeed – as if she didn't deserve to receive training as much as Harry did! She then realized, with a sinking feeling in her stomach, that she had yet to tell her parents and other friends about her plan to leave. But wait! Hadn't she said something to Harry in the café about – maybe –

"Headmaster Dumbledore, sir," Hermione said, tilting the mirror toward her forcefully. "Why can't you and your colleagues teach us magic here? In our own homes?"

"I'm afraid that is not possible, Miss Granger," Dumbledore replied, looking amused. ""Magical education causes too much of a disturbance for it to be safely and quietly done in an environment like yours. There is a Statute of Secrecy on the wizarding world, which is why we can only choose certain places to teach magic, such as Hogwarts or, in Harry's and your case, the Weasleys' home."

Hermione bit her lip, her hope of balancing magical education and her secondary school lessons extinguished. If she did go with Harry, she would be giving up her carefully planned life, her fourteen years of well-funded education, her dreams of going to Oxbridge, her long-standing friendships, and – her stomach clenched – her parents. But if she didn't go, she'd never be able to forgive herself for not taking the chance to learn – especially if she happened to need magic to defend herself like at Stonewall. No matter what she chose, she would spend the rest of her life thinking, "What if?"

"If that is all, Harry, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, cutting into her thoughts. Harry gently tilted the mirror so that both of them could see. "I will be on my way. I will send someone to pick you up on Boxing Day at three o'clock in the afternoon, in front of Harry's aunt's house. Don't forget to pack your belongings – clothing should be fine, as well as any personal effects that you consider valuable. Happy Christmas to you both." With a wink, he left the frame. Smoke swirled for a moment before the mirror surface reflected half of Hermione's anxious face and Harry's concerned one.

"Are you all right?" asked Harry, tucking the mirror back into his pocket.

Hermione nodded distractedly. "I need time alone to think about this." She jumped up and began pacing back and forth across the room, debating the merits of leaving everything behind or never taking the risk of starting somewhere new.

Harry stood up slowly, looking at her as if she were a dangerous animal. "I'll just be off then," he said softly, heading towards the door. Hermione stopped pacing, coming to her senses and showing him out.

"I'll ring you when I've decided," she told him, and she watched his figure retreat into the growing darkness before shutting the door and sliding down against it.

Dinner tonight was going to be very unpleasant.

"Absolutely not."

Hermione felt her resolve diminishing as her parents consistently denied her request to join Harry in learning about magic. "But Dad –"

"Your father said no, Hermione," Hermione's mother said tightly, and her expression softened at the look of hurt that flashed across her daughter's face. "You don't really – _believe_ in all of that hogwash, do you?"

"I do believe in it, Mum," said Hermione, irritated, pushing food around on her plate. "I know it's real. It protected me and Harry that night you picked us up from Stonewall. And – and I've been experimenting with it here. Look!" Hermione shut her eyes tightly, concentrating on the feeling of honey pouring from her heart into her fingers. When she looked at her parents, her index finger was pulsing with a soft, glowing light.

"That's just a trick of the light," her mother said, her voice shaking. She looked to her husband for reassurance, who was staring at the light with slack jaw.

"It's not a trick," Hermione argued, her voice strained as she tried to keep the light glowing. "It's real. Magic is real." She dropped her finger, letting out a sigh of relief as her body relaxed. "The letter from Hogwarts proves it. Every magical child receives a letter when they turn eleven, so they can attend Hogwarts instead of regular secondary school. Cho – a girl at Sara's party – told me so. She's a Hogwarts student right now."

"Well – even if that's the case," her mother said, "don't you think it'd be better to wait until your GCSEs are over before you – you go off to this training? That way, if this turns out badly, you'll still be able to come here and complete your A-levels, even if they are a year late."

Hermione bit her lip. She knew her parents were just trying to ensure a secure future for her, a good future where she took GCSEs and A-levels and went to university, ultimately getting a good, high-paying, permanent job that eventually led to a house and a family and a life of stability. That had been her life plan all along – until she found out about magic, found out that it was an irrefutable part of her, a part that she didn't really understand and _needed_ to understand before she could ever truly feel complete.

Her parents exchanged a glance. "What do you say, Hermione?" her father asked. "Wait until your exams are over in June, and we'll see what you want to do afterward?"

They _did_ have a point. It would be better to get her marks first, and it wasn't like she needed to learn about magic immediately…but then Harry wouldn't want to go because she wasn't going, and he'd be so disappointed. He'd seemed like he wanted to leave immediately, but maybe he'd also want to take GCSEs first… "I suppose I could ask Harry to talk to Dumbledore and, er, postpone our leaving," she told her parents thoughtfully, though something about the words didn't sit quite right on her tongue.

Her father smiled. "You've always taken your education seriously, Hermione, and we're very proud of you for that."

 _But what about my magical education?_ she thought briefly, before giving her father a strained smile. "I'll be upstairs," she said, quickly washing her dishes, and she ran to her room, sitting down on her bed and looked around at her newly unpacked room. There on her pillow was the stuffed otter her parents had given her for her seventh birthday; there on her dresser was a framed photograph of her with her friends from the city, Cecilia, Matthew, Richard, Daniel; there on the floor lay a neatly stacked pile of textbooks and papers from both Witsford and Stonewall; and there, sitting innocuously at the corner of the desk, lay the folded Hogwarts letter lying on top of its envelope. Sighing, Hermione picked it up, looking over the list of questionable supplies and the many titles under Albus Dumbledore's name, and she wondered for a moment whether she should even consider leaving her life behind for some – pipe dream that she didn't quite trust. But no – Hermione shook her head. Magic was real, she was sure of it. She just didn't have to learn about it right away. It was always safe to have a back-up plan involving exam scores and official documents.

She went to the living room and picked up the telephone to ring Harry, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling that something was terribly wrong.


	7. Families

Harry stuck his hands in his pockets, nervously walking back home as quickly as he could. Although it was only 4:30 when he had left from Hermione's house, the sky was already dark and the air quite icy. He could swear that he had heard footsteps behind him again, but every time he turned around and tried to catch the person in the act, all he saw were the surrounding houses and the streetlamps that dimly lit the pavement. Whoever was following him wasn't even casting a shadow. Frowning, Harry darted an anxious glance behind his shoulder and tried to calm his breathing as a soft thump sounded in the bushes across the street.

Stopping, Harry peered at the bushes curiously and was met with a pair of great glowing eyes that resolved themselves into a very large but starved-looking black dog. The dog whined, bounded across the street, and began nudging Harry's legs, its tail wagging excitedly as it drooled all over Harry's jeans. Harry looked down at the dog in confusion and slowly reached out a hand to pet it on its head. "Aunt Petunia's going to kill me," he muttered, and he crouched so that he and the dog saw eye-to-eye. The dog licked Harry's face enthusiastically, and Harry scratched the back of its ears absently, checking for a collar. There was none. "Are you the one who's been following me all this time?" Harry asked wonderingly. "Where did you come from?" Little Whinging was not the sort of neighborhood where stray animals were tolerated – it was too perfectly manicured, and besides, Harry thought mockingly, 'what would the neighbors say?'

The dog growled low in its throat, continuing to nudge and lick Harry's face and neck as if it had found its owner. Harry hoped that the dog didn't have fleas or rabies – he didn't want to be turned into a lunatic, frothing at the mouth for the rest of his life. "Hi, dog," Harry said, feeling extremely silly and standing slowly. The dog looked up at him, panting. "Erm – boy, or girl, whichever you are, you can't really follow me home. My aunt doesn't like dogs, so I can't let you into the house." He tried to make shooing motions away from his body, but the dog tilted its head as if it didn't understand.

Harry sighed. He took a few steps forward and stopped, shaking his head when the dog followed him. "No, erm, bad dog," he said, pointing behind him. "You have to go the other way." The dog whined, nudging Harry's damp knees, and then it lay down its head directly in front of Harry's feet. Harry felt a stab of pity as he saw how thin the dog was – it reminded him of long weeks in his cupboard with the barest amounts of food. "All right," he said, bending down and patting its head. "I'll hide you in the greenhouse; it's warmer than outside. Come on, dog, follow me."

The dog must have comprehended him, because it stood up quickly, its tail wagging furiously once more, and trotted beside Harry until they approached the corner of Magnolia Crescent and Privet Drive.

Nothing could have prepared Harry for what happened next. A red jet of light shot out from somewhere behind them. The dog jumped on top of Harry, knocking him to the ground and growling as the light missed its fur by inches and hit a lamppost instead, denting it with a resounding clang. Harry looked up, momentarily disoriented, and realized with horror that the dog was turning into something else – something _human_!

"AGH!" Harry screamed as the weight on his body shifted and cracked into the form of a skeletal man with filthy, matted black hair, waxy skin, and haunted grey eyes.

"Run!" the man snarled, jumping up and holding a wooden stick that Harry now recognized as a magic wand.

Harry scrambled backward as another red jet of light flew past his ear. The man deflected it with a brief white shield similar to what Harry had created at Stonewall, yelling, "Run, Harry!" Harry's eyes widened at the use of his name, and he gaped at the man for a moment before dodging another jet of light and jumping behind the front wall of the closest house. A cacophony of light and sound raged in the street as two masked wizards dressed in long robes – _Death Eaters_ , Harry realized with a chill – stepped out from the shadows and fought against the dog-man using shouts of Latin and magic. Soon, a bald, black wizard who looked eerily like Harry's maths teacher, Mr. Rowle, also joined the fray. Harry saw the two Death Eaters fall simultaneously after being hit with jets of red light. Long silver ropes slithered from the wands of the dog-man and the Mr. Rowle look-a-like and knotted themselves tightly around the Death Eaters' bodies.

The two remaining wizards then instantly pointed their wands at each other and froze.

"Come quietly, Sirius," the look-a-like said in a deep, calming voice. Harry started – it even _sounded_ like Mr. Rowle.

The dog-man's face split into a wide grin that reminded Harry of a dog baring its teeth, and then the man began to laugh hysterically, though his wand steadily pointed at the other wizard's chest. "You're an Auror now, eh, Shacklebolt? Good for you. We always knew you were going to be the voice of the law."

"Quietly, Sirius, or I will have to force you," Shacklebolt said calmly, his wand also never wavering.

"I want to talk to Dumbledore first," Sirius said, a desperate edge to his voice. "I have to talk to Dumbledore. Harry has the mirror."

Harry's hand jumped convulsively to his pocket.

Shacklebolt did not look fazed. "I'm taking you to the Ministry, Black," he said, and he flicked his wand so quickly that Sirius barely had a chance to enact a white shield in front of his body. The red light bounced off the shield and hit Shacklebolt square in the chest. He hit the ground with a loud thud, and Harry worried for a moment that he had cracked his head open. Sirius then pointed his wand at himself, shimmered briefly, and disappeared into the background of the street. Harry heard two Latin phrases being muttered from Sirius' spot. Shacklebolt woke up, standing up and looking around as if he were confused, and spotted the Death Eaters lying on the street. Grabbing each one by the arm, he disappeared with a loud _CRACK!_ that sounded very much like a gunshot.

Harry yelped when someone invisible grabbed his arm. "We have to get inside," Sirius muttered in Harry's ear, releasing his arm, and when Harry stood, there was a large, battered black dog panting at his feet. The dog jumped over the wall, wagging its tail impatiently, and began walking down Privet Drive. Harry followed warily, a million questions running through his mind. Could he trust Sirius, who apparently could also turn into a dog? How did Sirius know his name? What was an Auror, and why did Shacklebolt look and sound exactly like Mr. Rowle? Did he work for the Ministry of Defence? Why were there Death Eaters on Magnolia Crescent? What did the red light do? Why did Sirius want to talk to Dumbledore so badly? Was it safe to let Sirius near his house? Why hadn't the neighbors noticed any of the magic on the street?

Harry tensed as they approached Number 4. The dog – Sirius – jumped over the wall and ran around toward the back. After a moment's hesitation, Harry followed, hoping that his aunt wasn't looking out the windows as she normally did. Sirius stopped at the door of the greenhouse, two inches away from the living room, and looked up at Harry. Harry pushed open the door and stepped into the cramped, humid space, Sirius on his heels. Sirius then transformed back into a man, grabbed Harry's arm tightly, and cast a series of muttered spells that made the air glow blue and white briefly before settling on a pale yellow that illuminated the building. He then turned Harry toward him and crushed him into a smothering hug. "Oh, God, Harry!" he cried.

Harry coughed violently against the tattered, smelly rags the man was wearing, struggling to step backward. Sirius released him, keeping a tight grip on his shoulders, and looked at Harry with a rather hungry look. Harry's breath quickened, and he stared at Sirius fearfully. What did the man want?

"You look just like James," Sirius said hoarsely, pure wonder on his face.

Harry blinked. James was his middle name, but he didn't know where it came from. "Do I know you?" he asked, confused.

"Oh – I'm your godfather," Sirius answered, baring his teeth into a frightening, crazed smile.

"My what?" Harry's eyes widened. The Dursleys had never been religious, so he wasn't quite sure what the godfather's duties were (Dudley didn't have one), but if it was anything like that American movie Uncle Vernon had once watched on the telly…

Sirius' face fell. "I don't expect you to remember me," he said, "you were only a baby."

"Er…" Harry didn't know what to say. "You knew my parents?"

"Yes," said Sirius, visibly brightening, "James was my best friend." His eyes shadowed, and he dropped his death grip on Harry's shoulders suddenly, clenching his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white, angrily muttering under his breath. Harry chanced a glance at the door, wondering how far he could run before Sirius caught him, but curiosity kept him rooted to the ground.

"James…" Harry said hesitantly, and Sirius snapped to attention. "James was my father?"

A confused look passed across Sirius' face. "You don't know your father's name?"

Harry shook his head. "Or my mother's." Color rose in his cheeks as Sirius stared at him incredulously, and Harry averted his gaze in embarrassment. "Nobody ever told me," he muttered, kicking at some stray dirt on the floor, and he started violently as Sirius pulled him into another smothering hug, gasping for air when he was released.

"Do you have that mirror?" Sirius asked, once again holding Harry's shoulders with a death grip that made the boy wince. Harry pulled the mirror out of his pocket, and Sirius took it with one hand, looking down at the mirror with a fond, wistful smile. "James and I used to use this during detentions." He looked up at Harry with a sharp, unnerving gaze. "How can I reach Dumbledore?"

"You say, 'Albus Dumbledore,' and then 'lemon drop,'" Harry said, trying to keep his voice calm even though he was panicking inside. He didn't know if Dumbledore wanted anyone to know about the mirror. What if Dumbledore refused to teach Harry magic because Harry had betrayed his trust? Why was Sirius so desperate to contact him?

"Thanks, mate," Sirius said cheerfully, and he stared into the mirror. "Albus Dumbledore. Lemon drop."

A moment later, Dumbledore's voice thundered throughout the greenhouse. Harry flinched slightly at the volume. "SIRIUS BLACK! HOW DID YOU GET THIS MIRROR? WHERE IS HARRY?"

"He's right here, Professor," Sirius answered with a cheeky grin, "right across from me. He gave me the mirror. Temporarily, of course." The expression on his face became grim, and he spoke in a rush. "Dumbledore – I didn't betray them. It was Peter. We switched at the last minute. I would _never_ do that to James and Lily. Please, Professor!" Sirius' face already pale face whitened noticeably, and he took ragged breaths as he looked into the mirror imploringly, his eyes practically popping out of his head. "You have to believe me! Peter is still out there somewhere working for Voldemort! He cut off his own finger, he's an Animagus and can turn into a rat! You have to find him!"

"I can hardly believe a Death Eater," Dumbledore replied coldly. "Show me Harry. I want to know that he's alive and safe."

Sirius turned the mirror around sharply and pushed it into Harry's face. "Harry," said Dumbledore, looking extremely concerned, "are you all right? Did he hurt you?"

Harry shook his head, glancing up at Sirius, who was looking at him with an expression of raw and painful desperation. He didn't know whether or not to believe that Sirius was a Death Eater – he hadn't worn masks and robes like the others. "I'm fine, sir. I swear. Who is Peter?"

Dumbledore sighed deeply as Sirius launched into an angry rant filled with curses under his breath. "That is a story for another time, Harry," the headmaster answered, his eyes flickering, "but suffice to say, you must not trust Sirius for now."

Harry felt a flash of annoyance. Who was Dumbledore to say who he could or could not trust? Sirius had saved Harry from the Death Eaters – as far as Harry could tell, and while the man did seem a little bit insane, he hadn't hurt Harry so far, just tried to get him somewhere safe. "Why not?" Harry asked Dumbledore.

"He is dangerous," Dumbledore said shortly, "he is a fugitive from the wizarding prison of Azkaban. Harry, when you can, get inside your house and stay there."

Sirius turned the mirror around abruptly. "I'm innocent, Dumbledore," he growled, "the Ministry threw me in without a trial. I know you've got Order members after me – let them take me to headquarters, wherever they are, not the Ministry. I'll take Veritaserum, I'll tell you what really happened." His gaunt face softened. "I just wanted to see Harry," and he looked up at Harry with something akin to pride. Harry stared back at him, a confusing warmth spreading throughout his limbs just as two wizards burst in through the door.

" _STUPEFY!"_ they roared in unison, and two red jets of light hit Sirius in the back. He dropped to the ground with a loud crash, causing some of the potted plants to tremble. The thin silver ropes then encircled his body like they had the Death Eaters'. Harry recognized one of the wizards as Shacklebolt, while the other was a square-jawed man with straw-colored hair, who plucked the mirror out of Sirius' hands and looked at it curiously. "Dumbledore?"

"Take him to headquarters," Dumbledore ordered.

The square jaw dropped. "But the Ministry –"

"Headquarters," Dumbledore repeated firmly. "We have some questioning to do."

Shacklebolt walked over to Harry, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right, Harry?"

Harry nodded, squinting. "Mr. Rowle?" he asked hesitantly.

Shacklebolt grinned. "That's one name to call me," he said, passing the mirror to Harry, and he bent down, grabbing one of Sirius' shoulders while his partner grabbed the other. "Get back inside the house, Harry, you'll be safe there," Shacklebolt ordered, pointing his wand at the ceiling and extinguishing the pale yellow light throughout the greenhouse. The three wizards then disappeared with a loud _CRACK!_ , leaving Harry standing alone in the darkness.

* * *

Hermione snatched the phone receiver as it rang shrilly, biting back a sigh of irritation. She had tried to ring Harry five times after dinner, and each time she did, Harry's aunt had spouted some gibberish about needing to take out the trash or wash the dishes before hanging up abruptly. Hermione knew that the woman was rude, but she didn't expect her to have such horrible phone etiquette.

"Er, hello?" Harry asked from the other line. "Is, er, is this Hermione?"

"Oh! Sorry, Harry, yes, it's me," Hermione said. "I've tried to ring you five times tonight. Did your aunt tell you I called?"

"Oh – no, she didn't," Harry answered, sounding very tired. "I – er – I just wanted to tell you that…er…Mr. Rowle is a wizard. A wizard named Shacklebolt."

"I'm sorry?" Hermione said disbelievingly. "Mr. Rowle? The – the maths teacher at Stonewall?"

"Yeah. It's a long story…er…I was walking home from your house, and some Death Eaters tried to attack me, and…Shacklebolt, I mean, Mr. Rowle, saved me."

Hermione got the feeling that Harry was leaving something out, but she didn't want to press him for now. "Death Eaters? Voldemort's followers? They…they were here?"

"Yeah, I reckon Dumbledore was right about Voldemort being after me again," Harry said sarcastically, "unlike some people who thought he was lying."

"I was trying to make sure it was safe!" Hermione exclaimed, hurt.

Harry was silent for a moment. "I think you had a point, though, about Dumbledore being a little fishy. I think he's hiding something."

 _Like you_ , Hermione thought, but she pushed it away. "Why do you say that?"

"Shacklebolt wasn't the only one who saved me from the Death Eaters. There was…someone else."

"Another wizard?"

"Yes. Sort of."

"Who?"

"A man named Sirius Black."

Hermione's eyes widened. There had been warnings about Sirius Black on the evening newscast for the past week. Apparently, he was wanted for the mass murder of over thirteen people in the autumn of 1981, and he was considered extremely dangerous. "Sirius Black is a dangerous fugitive, Harry," she said slowly.

"Wait, how do you know that? Dumbledore told me he was a fugitive in the wizarding world, but –"

"Haven't you seen the news lately? He's a mass murderer."

"I…er…" Harry sounded sheepish. "I don't normally pay attention to the news."

"You're lucky to be alive, then," Hermione said sharply. "You could have been killed! Did he try to hurt you?"

"No. He just wanted to talk to Dumbledore using the mirror, so I let him. He told Dumbledore that he was innocent, then Shacklebolt and another wizard came and captured him. They're gone now."

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked.

"I'm fine," Harry insisted faintly. "I'm a bit – tired. Why did you ring me earlier?"

"Oh –" Hermione bit her lip. She'd originally called to talk about delaying the beginning of their magical training until GCSEs were over, but now that Harry had been attacked by Death Eaters and approached by an accused murderer who was also a wizard, the suggestion didn't seem at all reasonable. The earlier they learned how to defend themselves with magic, the better. "It's not – I mean – it's silly, it's nothing," Hermione said hurriedly. "I just thought – but –"

"Erm…spit it out, Hermione," Harry said, sounding confused.

Hermione took a deep breath. "I was going to ask if you could talk to Dumbledore and ask him to start the magical training after our GCSEs are over," she said in a rush, "but I – I take it back. I think we should leave right away."

"You're going with me then," said Harry, questioningly.

"Yes," said Hermione, and in that moment, the resolve that had faded away during dinner with her parents came back, much stronger than before. "It's the right thing to do." She sighed, pondering how she was going to break the news to her parents. They had managed to convince her to think about taking her exams first, and Hermione suspected that they thought that was all they needed to deter her from learning magic at all. After all, she had always been focused on her studies and her plans to go to university, and they didn't have a reason to see a change in those plans. Then again, they weren't the ones who believed in magic and felt it running through their blood when rat-faced bullies tried to kiss them.

"Hermione? Are you still there?"

"Oh – yes, I was just thinking about my parents," she said awkwardly.

"Oh…erm…" Harry paused uncertainly. "Have you…erm…told them you're going to leave?"

"Not yet," she said, a weird feeling twisting inside of her at the thought of approaching her parents with the topic again. "I will. Soon."

"Good luck, then," said Harry sincerely, and she smiled.

"Thanks. Happy Christmas, Harry."

"Happy Christmas. See you on Boxing Day." He hung up.

Hermione walked upstairs to her parents' bedroom, relief and dread warring within her as she steeled herself for the upcoming confrontation.

"Well," Hermione said to herself as she sank down onto the bed, "that went well." Relief washed over her, and she smiled.

Her parents had been surprisingly open about her announcement to leave on Boxing Day. They'd agreed to take her to Harry's house, but they wanted to talk to the wizards who were coming to pick her and Harry up. "Just a few questions, you know," her mother said airily, which made Hermione a little bit worried. Her mother's questions were always sharp and unavoidable; they'd spoiled her father's plans for surprise gifts and parties more than once.

Hermione's father was still rather disbelieving of the fact that she had magical powers and wanted to learn how to use them, but after Hermione had told him about the attack on Harry, he'd said that it would be good to learn how to defend herself, though he didn't quite approve of using magic wands to do so. Hermione knew that on Boxing Day, her father would also treat the wizards to a heavy interrogation – he'd always threatened, jokingly, to do that if she ever got a boyfriend, but she knew he was serious about this. She was his only daughter, after all, and he was very displeased with the strangers who had decided to take her away.

"Hermione?" Her mother poked her head in the doorway. "Can I come in?"

Hermione nodded. "Of course, Mum." She looked up in surprise at the bundle of wrapped gifts was carrying. "What are those?"

"Your friends from Witsford stopped by our old house and gave them to me before we left," her mother answered. "They're your Christmas gifts."

"Oh," said Hermione, and she realized with a panicked twinge that she hadn't any gifts for any of her friends. "I didn't get them anything –"

Her mother gave her an odd look. "Unless I'm mistaken, you gave them all of their gifts a week before we left. You had a farewell dinner, remember?"

"Oh, right," Hermione mumbled sheepishly, blushing. So many things had happened since she'd moved to Surrey. Her old life in London seemed so distant now.

"You're not to open them until Christmas Day," her mother warned, setting the gifts onto Hermione's desk, "but you can open our gift tomorrow."

Hermione smiled sincerely as she thought of the Christmas Eve tradition. "I can't wait," she said, and her heart gave a horribly guilty twinge at the thought of leaving her parents so soon. It must have showed on her face, because her mother enveloped into her a tight hug, stroking her hair gently.

"Your father and I love you, Hermione," the woman said, "no matter what decisions you make." She looked into Hermione's eyes. "We will always be there for you, do you understand?"

"Yes, Mum," Hermione said, with a feeling of guilty relief.

"Good." Her mother brushed a strand of Hermione's hair off her face. "Now get to bed, because it's getting late."

Hermione nodded and followed her mother out into the hallway to use the bathroom.

On the desk, for a brief moment, one of her gifts glimmered with a wavering light

* * *

_Harry was flying on a broom, giggling in a baby's voice as someone chased him around the back garden. He tried to take a look at the world around him, but he was zooming around too fast, and he felt – free. Free like the wind._

_"Sirius Black, get him down right now!" a female voice snapped._

_Someone caught him, and he squirmed a little as the blurry images around him resolved themselves into a woman with long auburn hair and green eyes similar to his own. She held out her arms, and suddenly he was nestled against her shoulder. He gurgled and looked at the man across from her. Black hair, grey eyes, a bright and laughing smile and an tall, elegant gait – a younger, happier version of the dog-man, the fugitive, Sirius Black._

Why am I a baby? _Harry thought in the back of his mind, and then,_ Is this my mother who's carrying me?

_"I don't know why you thought it would be a good idea to buy him a broomstick for Christmas," the woman scolded. "You know he shouldn't ride it until he's a year old!"_

_"But he's a natural, Lily," said a male voice from behind her. Harry held out his arms as he saw the man who looked almost exactly like him._

_"Da!" he shouted._

_Harry's father grinned and scooped him up from Lily's arms. "Aren't you, Harry?" he asked, and he ruffled Harry's hair as Harry scrunched up his face and squirmed. "Well," said Harry's father – James, thought Harry in a brief moment of consciousness – "I approved of the idea, Padfoot."_

_Sirius Black grinned, and not in the crazed way Harry had seen in the greenhouse. "That's my job as godfather, Prongs," he said, "to spoil the little bugger rotten."_

_"Bu'er!" Harry exclaimed, giggling._

_"Sirius! Did you really have to –" Lily sighed, and she shook her finger at Harry with a frown. "Don't use that word, Harry."_

_"Bu'er?" Harry repeated, confused, and Sirius let out a hearty laugh which died as soon as he took a look at Lily's face._

_"All right, all right," said Sirius, holding his hands up, "I'm sorry, Lily." He winked at James. "I must be off – Dumbledore wants to know about my dear cousin Bellatrix's wedding, which was held at the Lestranges' manor. Thinks they're using it as a Death Eater base."_

_"Be careful," said James, his voice rumbling through his chest._

_"I'm always careful," Sirius said with a strained laugh, and he disappeared without a sound._

_"Time for your nap, Harry," said Lily, and James carried Harry up a set of stairs into a nursery with moving pictures along the walls. Harry wailed as James set him down, and stood up inside the crib._

_"Da! Da! Ma!"_

_"Shh," Lily whispered, bending down with a smile, and Harry stopped crying as he looked into her eyes and felt her hand stroke his cheek._

_And suddenly his mother was standing with her back toward him, her arms spread out wide as a green light hit her and she fell. Harry screamed as an ugly, monstrous face looked at him, pale white skin stretched over a snake-like face with red eyes. A wand was pointed directly at his forehead, and then his world was enveloped in green light and blood was dripping down his forehead and all he knew was a pounding pain…_

Harry woke with a start as Uncle Vernon angrily slammed the door open.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" he barked, flicking the light switch. "It's three o'clock in the bloody morning!"

Harry sat up, rubbing his forehead and trying to ignore the headache that threatened to engulf him as the brightness hit his eyes. "Nothing. Sorry. Nightmare." He curled his knees to his chest, trying to ignore the queasy feeling in his stomach.

"Hm," Uncle Vernon muttered darkly, and he lingered in the doorway unexpectedly. "Well – I suppose – you, ah, you wouldn't want to talk about it?"

Harry's head jerked up. "What?" he asked in astonishment. Uncle Vernon had never asked Harry such a question, even when he was a child. His uncle had been acting a bit nicer lately, but…

Uncle Vernon grunted, narrowed his eyes, and then left the room, leaving the light on. Harry climbed out of bed to turn the light switch off, cold sweat running down his back. He was certain that he had just had a flashback – the house and the crib and the people in it felt strangely familiar, like a memory that had been locked away. He closed his eyes, thinking. His father had looked exactly like him, but his mother had had the same eyes. She hadn't looked like Aunt Petunia at all, either – she'd been much prettier. Harry smirked at this small triumph. And Sirius Black had been younger, brighter – and he'd said something about Dumbledore and Death Eaters…they must have been working together to find out information about Death Eaters. Sirius had said something about a cousin with a weird name…Harry grasped at the dream as it faded away, and remembered with a chill the last part of it. He'd been dreaming about the part for years, but never so clearly so that he could remember it. The snake-man must have been Voldemort, and the green light the Killing Curse that Dumbledore had mentioned…Harry felt nauseous. Had he just remembered watching someone trying to kill him?

Harry tossed and turned until pale winter sunlight filtered through his windows, signaling the beginning of Christmas Eve.


	8. Gifts

"Wow," Hermione breathed, "it's so beautiful." She set the miniature model of the solar system on the table, leaning in to observe the tiny, glittering moons hanging around each of the planets underneath the glass dome. "I wonder why Daniel didn't buy it for himself," she said curiously, glancing at her parents, who were looking at the model with wonder. "He's more interested in astronomy than I am." She picked up Daniel's card amidst the torn wrapping paper surrounding her and opened it.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Happy Christmas! I know this gift seems more appropriate for me than for you, but I wanted to give you something by which you could remember me. It's fragile, so don't shake it! I hope that you are well and that by this time, we've contacted each other – if not, ring me soon!_

_Your friend always,_

_Daniel_

Hermione smiled slightly. The disparity between her friends' behavior while they visited and the loving memories she had from London still niggled at her brain if she thought about it, but the gifts from Daniel and Richard more than made up for it. She surveyed the coffee table with a warm and wistful smile. Cecilia had given her an album full of photographs and funny quotes from her times at Witsford; Matthew, a beautiful leather-bound book titled _Numerology and Ancient Mathematics_ ; Richard, a box of very expensive Belgian chocolate; and lying upstairs in her room was a white gold necklace with a pearl in its center from her parents. Hermione had been surprised; her parents had never given her jewelry and she'd never taken an interest in it, but they'd said that they wanted they'd wanted to show their only daughter that she was "as precious and unique as a pearl," which made Hermione want to simultaneously hug them tightly and groan in embarrassment. She'd done both, of course, and offered profuse thanks that made her mother's cheeks blush quite red.

"Well," said Hermione's father, raising the mug Hermione had given him and which was now filled with hot cocoa, "I say that this is a very happy Christmas for our new home." He looped an arm about his wife's shoulders and kissed her on the cheek. She smiled and looked up from the book she had been reading – a gilt edition of Charles Dickens' _Great Expectations_ , another gift from Hermione.

"Our new home," Hermione whispered, and she quickly turned her back to her father and began to collect the scraps of ribbon and paper that littered the floor. She couldn't really fathom leaving her parents behind the next day, even though she knew it was necessary. She'd packed her suitcase the day before, leaving only a little room for any Christmas gifts she couldn't bear to part with. _That would be all of them_ , she thought ruefully, as she binned the papers and ribbons. "I'm going to take my gifts up to my room," she announced, turning to her parents.

"I'll help," her mother said with a warm smile.

Hermione bent down and picked up the astronomical model with some difficulty, watching as her mother quickly stacked the other gifts and nodded. They walked upstairs to Hermione's room, where a suitcase full of clothing lay in the corner. Hermione's mother looked at it, frowned slightly, and set the gifts on the desk.

"I'll be downstairs," she said quickly, leaving Hermione to stare at her retreating back with some puzzlement.

Biting her lip, Hermione carefully wrapped the glass model with some old T-shirts at the bottom of the suitcase, setting the photo album underneath it. She looked at the clothes with a sigh. Underclothes, a few T-shirts, jumpers, jeans, and slacks…she wished she could pack more clothes, especially since she didn't know if she would be coming back to her house before the seasons changed. She'd just have to make do until then. It wouldn't be warm for a long while yet.

She bit into one of the chocolates and opened her book, a warm, tingly feeling of content spreading throughout her body as she began to learn about ancient and mystical mathematics.

* * *

Harry stared at the ceiling glumly, listening to the sounds of the Dursleys unwrapping Christmas gifts downstairs. He'd never received a legitimate Christmas gift in all of the fourteen years that he had lived under their roof, so he didn't expect to receive any now. At least they didn't make him serve breakfast this year or invite Aunt Marge over. When Harry was eight, Uncle Vernon's sister had given him a box of dog biscuits for Christmas, while Dudley had received a computerized robot. Harry, fuming, had been forced to sit through a whole week of her disparagement and Dudley's taunts about how Harry ought to be kept in the back garden. He'd finally had enough at the end of the week and called both of them liars, which had earned him two weeks of being locked in his cupboard. Harry scowled angrily at the memory. At least his aunt and uncle treated him decently now.

He looked at the suitcase lying in the middle of the floor. He had packed all of the new clothing his aunt had bought him, as well as some notebooks and pens he figured he would need to take notes. He didn't have any personal effects to speak of except for his glasses; he'd packed one Hogwarts letter just in case he needed it, but everything else in his room consisted of papers and notes from his lessons, and he wouldn't need all of those to learn magic.

Someone rapped on the door, and Harry groaned, turning his face to the wall. "Go away, Dudley, I don't care about the fifty gifts you got for Christmas. Leave me alone." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his aunt come in, her lips pressed into a tight frown.

"It's polite to open the door when someone knocks," she sniffed. "Sit up, boy, I won't have you sulking all day."

Harry scowled sullenly and sat up, shooting a puzzled glance at the box and photograph album Aunt Petunia was carrying under her arm. "What's that?" he asked.

"Don't ask questions," she snapped instantly, and then she took a deep breath. "They're photographs. You're to pick out the best ones and put them in the album. It's your gift for this year."

"My gift? Thanks, Aunt Petunia," Harry repeated sarcastically. Trust Aunt Petunia to turn even a Christmas gift into a chore. They were probably all photographs of her and Dudley and Uncle Vernon, anyway.

Aunt Petunia slammed the box down onto the floor. "Don't be so ungrateful, boy. I want this finished by dinnertime." She turned swiftly on her heel and walked out of the room, pursing her lips as if she had just sucked on a particularly sour lemon.

Harry sighed and sat down on the floor, opening the box and pulling out a handful of photographs roughly. They felt surprisingly old, and Harry relaxed his grip, looking curiously at the yellowing photograph of two little girls at a swing set. "Lily and Petunia, play park, 1967," read the neat handwriting on the back. Harry felt his breath catch in his throat and rapidly shuffled through the other photos. His mum appeared in all of them, a bright and mischievous smile lighting up her green eyes as red hair framed her face at varying lengths.

"Lily and Petunia on Halloween, 1965." Harry grinned at the sight of his aunt and mother dressed up as little angels. Petunia was scowling, but Lily was grinning, triumphantly holding up a feather-covered rod with a star at the end. Harry reached for another batch of photographs, his eyes widening as he saw Lily holding a magical wand against a backdrop of snow, a red-and-gold scarf nearly covering her delighted smile. "Lily in her first year at Hogwarts, December 1971," Harry read with reverence. He flipped through a couple more, stopping at one which contained a pale, dark-haired boy with a reluctant smile standing in front of the swing set. Harry turned the photograph over curiously. "Lily with her friend Severus, 1968," he read, and he leaned in closer to look at the boy. The photograph was slightly blurry, but Harry could make out a rather large nose and stringy hair and what looked like yellow teeth. The boy looked – sickly. Harry wondered if Aunt Petunia knew more about this Severus.

The photographs became scarcer as Lily became older; there were only a few of her as a teenager, and they were all similar to the one he had seen from 1971. Harry caught a glimpse of his grandparents; his grandfather had been thin and tall, with blond hair and twinkling blue eyes that reminded Harry of Dumbledore, while his grandmother had strawberry blonde hair and warm brown eyes that reminded Harry distantly of Hermione. "The Evans family in 1976," Harry read, looking at his mother and her parents and sister. Lily looked to be around fifteen or sixteen years old, and she was beaming as Petunia glared sullenly at the camera. Harry smirked. Aunt Petunia didn't look much different now.

Finally, Harry came to the very end of the stack and pulled out two pictures that took his breath away. In the first, his mother and father stood holding hands, glowing with happiness and holding up their hands to show the two gold wedding bands on their intertwined fingers. Lily looked radiant in a white and gold robe with scarlet lining, her auburn hair falling down in waves and her green eyes sparkling with joy, while James, dressed in scarlet and gold robes that fell to his feet, looked slightly flabbergasted as he grinned. Underneath the black round spectacles that looked identical to Harry's own, Harry could make out hazel eyes filled with laughter and love.

Harry felt a deep, painful longing similar to the one he'd experienced when Dumbledore had mentioned Lily's sacrifice. He turned over the photograph. "Dear Petunia," he whispered, "I'm sorry you couldn't make it to James' and my wedding. I've sent you a photograph since you couldn't be there. Wishing you all the best, your sister, Lily." Harry's throat tightened, and his eyes feasted on the image of his parents before moving onto the next one.

In the second photograph, Lily and James beamed with joy and pride as a tiny baby Harry, wrapped in a blanket and held in Lily's arms, stared at the camera curiously. The baby Harry had no scar; Harry touched his forehead briefly, tracing the lightning bolt outline as he blinked rapidly and read the text on the back. "Dear Petunia, James and I had a baby named Harry. He's three months old now – I'm sorry I couldn't tell you sooner, but we've been hiding because of the war. Stay safe, Tuney, and congratulations on Dudley. Love, your sister, Lily." The bottom of the photograph was crumpled a bit, as if Aunt Petunia had held it too tightly; Harry tried to smooth it out fruitlessly, and looked at his baby-self with embarrassment and wonder. His parents looked happy but also exhausted; there were shadows under their eyes and a lingering fear within them. "Were they hiding from Voldemort?" Harry wondered briefly, and he knew the answer was yes.

Carefully, Harry picked the clearest photographs of Lily out of the pile, sliding them into the album with shaky hands as his chest and throat tightened involuntarily.

* * *

Boxing Day dawned cloudy and gray, much like Hermione's mood as she took one last look at the house she'd barely lived in and placed her suitcase into the boot of the little blue car. Her parents' faces were pale and worried, and they had barely said a word to her since she had brought her suitcase downstairs after lunch. It was only then that they seemed to understand that she was quite serious about learning magic, quite serious about leaving everybody and everything behind…though Hermione didn't like to think about it like that. She knew that she was making the right choice, even if it wasn't the easiest one.

Harry was sitting on the front steps leafing through a book when Hermione and her parents pulled up to his house. He looked up, surprised, his face relaxing into a grin as he saw Hermione. "Hi," he said, slamming the photograph album shut as she sat down next to him.

"What's that?" she asked curiously. "A Christmas gift?"

Harry nodded. "The best one I've ever received." A look of horror passed over his face. "I didn't get you anything," he said quickly, his face flushing, "I –"

Hermione waved it off. "You did," she said with a smile, "by letting me come with you." She bit her lip and looked toward her parents, who were hovering uncertainly on the pavement.

"Let's wait over there," Harry offered, and she shot him a grateful glance just as a small, dark green car that looked like it belonged more in the 1950's than the 1990's parked rather closely behind the Grangers'. Shacklebolt, formerly known as Mr. Rowle, stepped out of the car wearing a nicely tailored suit, and he was closely followed by a thin, balding red-haired wizard with lots of freckles and glasses who was wearing an odd combination of pinstriped pants and a sweater. They walked toward Hermione's parents, holding out their hands in greeting.

"Hello," said Shacklebolt in his deep, calming voice, "you must be Mr. and Mrs. Granger. My name is Kingsley Shacklebolt. I served as the maths teacher at Stonewall for some time."

"I'm Arthur Weasley," said the other wizard, shaking Hermione's father's hand enthusiastically, "the kids will be staying at my house. I've got a son and daughter just about their age." He looked around the street, stopping to stare at Hermione's and Harry's suitcases on the pavement. "Fascinating," he said in earnest, and he began to play with the handlebars of the suitcase. "Really quite fascinating, these contraptions. How do they work?"

"Shall we?" Shacklebolt asked, laying a restraining hand on Arthur Weasley's shoulder as Mrs. Granger looked at him apprehensively. Shacklebolt lifted Hermione's and Harry's suitcases and put them in the boot of the car. Hermione could see a driver dressed in a green suit waiting furtively.

"Now wait just a minute," Hermione's father protested. "We've got some questions that need to be answered before we let Hermione leave so quickly."

Hermione felt her face flush, and she looked down at the pavement in embarrassment. "Sorry," she whispered to Harry.

"Don't be sorry," he said in a low voice. "You're lucky to have parents who care so much about you."

"Oh – I didn't mean –"

"It's all right," Harry said shortly, and he looked back at his house briefly. "I don't think my aunt is very pleased with what's going on," he said, rolling his eyes. "She's worried about what the neighbors are going to say."

Hermione looked up and down the street and found many ugly women's faces plastered against the windows, watching Hermione's parents interrogate the wizards with avid interest. She let out a noise of disgust. "Don't they have anything better to do?"

"No," said Harry, shrugging nonchalantly and casting a sweet smile across the garden at his aunt, who was watching from her window with a very sour look.

Hermione glared fiercely at the window of Number 5; the woman there retreated with an equally nasty glare. "Hmph," Hermione said with some amount of satisfaction.

"What if she gets hurt when she's – casting spells or, or – is there a hospital nearby?" Hermione's mother was asking.

"Ma'am," Shacklebolt answered, "I assure you that should your daughter receive any injuries, we have the means of immediately contacting and bringing a healer to Mr. Weasley's home."

Mrs. Granger did not seem appeased. "What kind of injuries might she receive?"

"Minor cuts and bruises," Mr. Weasley cut in, "nothing my wife can't fix up. We've plenty of experience in minor magical accidents thanks to our twins, Fred and George. They like to experiment with things, and sometimes – well – they can cause a bit of trouble, but everything turns out well in the end."

Hermione's parents looked even more anxious now than they did before. "Experiment?" Mr. Granger asked, his brow furrowing. "Experiment with what?"

"Sweets, mostly," Mr. Weasley answered sagely, "and potions and charms. They want to start their own joke shop one day, so they've been working on developing sweets that – well, give you green hair for a day, for example. It's harmless, I assure you."

"Harmless," Mrs. Granger repeated doubtfully, and she turned to look at her daughter with a rather pleading look on her face. "Hermione, dear…I'm worried for your safety. Are you certain that you want to go?"

"Absolutely, Mum," Hermione answered firmly. "I'll be fine. I promise."

"Oh, well, I don't know…"

"Mum," Hermione said, exasperated, and she looked toward her father, who was also staring at the wizards dubiously. "Dad. I'm going to do this whether you like it or not. I _have_ to." She crossed her arms in front of her chest and stared at her parents resolutely.

After a minute had passed in the battle of wills, Hermione's parents relented. Her father came forward and embraced her tightly. "Be safe, Hermione," he said, and she held onto him a minute more before hugging her mother in the same way.

"I'll miss you," her mother said, tears glimmering in her eyes. "Be safe, and write often. She _will_ be able to write, won't she?" Mrs. Granger asked sternly, looking at Shacklebolt and Mr. Weasley with a firm glare.

"Yes, of course," Shacklebolt answered with a reassuring smile.

"Our village has a Muggle post office," Mr. Weasley exclaimed, "so you'll get your letter in the box just like normal. And I have a fellytone that she can use to ring you up."

"A telephone," Kingsley corrected calmly.

"Muggle?" Hermione mouthed at Harry, who shrugged with a bewildered look. Her parents didn't seem to be confused, though, and they merely looked at her with a worried smile.

"I love you Mum, Dad," Hermione said. "I'll come back, and I'll write often. I _promise_."

Hermione's parents nodded.

"Harry, do you want to say goodbye to your relatives?" Mr. Weasley asked, as Harry opened the car door.

Harry paused and glanced toward the house. "Er…I said goodbye to them already," he said quickly, averting his eyes. "They're, er, they understand."

"All right," said Mr. Weasley, though he sounded a little bit dubious. "Well – we'll be off then," he said, and he shook Hermione's parents hands once more. Hermione sent them a smile, and then followed Harry inside the car, which looked much larger outside than inside. Mr. Weasley got in next to her, while Shacklebolt took the front passenger seat. "Ready to go?" Mr. Weasley asked excitedly. "Cars are ingenious, aren't they? I don't know how Muggles create these things. They're brilliant!"

"What's a Muggle, sir?" Hermione asked, looking nervously at Mr. Weasley, who was staring at her as if she were a recently discovered species of animal in the zoo.

"A non-magical person," Shacklebolt answered briefly.

Harry was looking out the window with a confused expression on his face.

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione asked, nudging him gently.

"We're passing through traffic so quickly," he said, "I don't think we're following any of the laws, but we haven't crashed yet. We just went through a red light – look!"

Hermione twisted around and looked out the back window. The roads all around them were gridlocked, but they seemed to be flying through them rather quickly without any problems. "Is this magic?" she asked Mr. Weasley, who beamed and nodded.

"A few modifications to the car," he told her, "nothing fancy, you know, just a way to make it faster."

"How did you do it?" asked Hermione.

"Er – well –" Mr. Weasley averted his gaze, the tips of his ears turning red. "It's a bit of a Ministry secret, I'm afraid. Very advanced. Classified." The driver up front let out a suspicious cough.

Hermione looked at him for a moment more, frowning, and turned back to Harry, who was grinning now from ear-to-ear. "Wow," he said, "magic is brilliant."

"Wow," Hermione agreed, and she too smiled.

* * *

Harry had never enjoyed a car ride before. Uncle Vernon was usually insulting him when he drove Harry to school, Dudley was always bullying him in the backseat, and Aunt Petunia preferred to ignore his existence until she made him unload the groceries. Now, sitting in a magical car and speeding through rush hour faster than a motorcycle fiend, he felt as if he were the king of the world – not, of course, that he would ever admit it.

They finally arrived on a dirt path, landing with a slight bump. "Out we get, then," Mr. Weasley said cheerfully, opening the door. Harry exited from the other side, his jaw dropping as he stared at the house in front of him.

A scattering of boots, an old rusted cauldron, and bits of scattered chicken feed lay in front of a very large, uneven house that looked like it would tip over faster than the Leaning Tower of Pisa. It looked like a farmhouse with several rooms added randomly to its top, which had to be held up by magic, because Harry knew that such a house couldn't exist otherwise. A sign in front declared it to be "the Burrow."

"Come on, Harry," said Hermione, pulling his suitcase toward him. Mr. Weasley was already at the front door, waiting. Shacklebolt cleared his throat from the car.

"It's amazing," Harry said in wonder, clutching his photo album to his chest.

"I know," she agreed excitedly, "I can't wait to learn how to do all of this. I'm so glad you let me come with you."

"You would've come whether I asked you to or not," Harry pointed out with a grin, and they followed Mr. Weasley past a sitting room to the back of the house, where a plump red-haired witch was standing at a stove and humming to herself as she swished her wand around. She looked up when they entered.

"Hello, dears," she said cheerfully, "I'm Mrs. Weasley, Arthur's wife." Mr. Weasley walked over and kissed her on the cheek. "How was it?" she asked.

"No trouble at all," Mr. Weasley answered. "The poor Muggles asked a rather lot of questions, but that was to be expected. I really must keep in touch with them – they have the most brilliant devices. You don't think they'll mind if I write to them, do you, Hermione?" He turned to Hermione with childish excitement.

"Of course not," said Hermione, sounding uncertain. Mr. Weasley beamed.

"The kids are outside playing Quidditch," said Mrs. Weasley, "but they should be back at any minute now. I told them to come inside before dark."

As if on cue, four redheaded, freckled teenagers burst in through the back door, their faces pink with cold. "Hey Mum, who're they?" asked a tall, gangly boy at the front of the group, looking at Harry and Hermione with some confusion.

"Mind your manners, Ron," Mrs. Weasley scolded, and the girl next to Ron smirked. Mrs. Weasley turned to Harry and Hermione with a smile. "Harry, Hermione, these are my children, Ron, Ginny, and the twins – Fred and George." Two stocky boys with identical faces pushed past their brother and sister, extending their hands.

"Fred Weasley," said one of them, shaking hands with Harry, while his brother George did the same with Hermione. Fred leaned in conspiratorially. "Don't mind ickle Ronniekins, he's still a bit of a dolt at times."

"At times, dear brother?" asked George, grinning. "I disagree. More like all the time –"

"Especially since he became a prefect –"

"You know, Prefect Ron doesn't quite have the ring to it as Prefect Percy –"

"Shut it," interrupted Ron, the tips of his ears turning red like his father's. He extended his hand. "Ron Weasley."

Harry shook it. "Harry Potter," he said quietly.

Ron goggled at him, and the twins' jaws dropped. "Are you really?" asked Fred.

"Yes," said Harry, feeling color rise in his cheeks, his eyes dropping to the floor.

"Oh, great, I'm sure that made him feel _very_ welcome," said Ginny sarcastically, and she extended her hand toward Hermione. "Ginny Weasley."

"Hermione Granger," said Hermione, sounding miffed.

""Hello, Hermione, Harry. Don't worry about my brothers, they're all prats," said Ginny with a smile.

"Gin-Gin, how you wound us!" Fred exclaimed, clutching his heart dramatically.

Ginny's eyes narrowed, and she whirled on her brother, her red hair flying about her face. "Take that back," she snapped.

"Take what back, Gin-Gin?" asked George, grinning.

Ginny's smile was dangerously sweet. "If you don't stop calling me Gin-Gin, I'll treat you to a month's worth of Bat-Bogey Hexes once we get back to school."

Both twins looked properly cowed at this, and they raised their hands in defeat. "She's a dangerous one, our sister," Fred whispered loudly, winking at Harry, and with a nod to Hermione, he and George bounded out of the kitchen, clattering up some stairs that Harry had yet to see.

"Those two," said Mrs. Weasley in an exasperated tone, though she was holding back a smile. "Ron, dear, Harry will be sharing your room, and Ginny, Hermione will be staying with you. Take them upstairs to put their stuff away and then come back down here to set the table."

"For dinner, Mum?" said Ginny, looking surprised. "It's not even five o'clock yet!"

"Yes, well, Dumbledore is coming to speak with us later, so we're to eat a little earlier today. Off to your room, now, go on," said Mrs. Weasley firmly.

Harry exchanged an anxious glance with Hermione and followed Ron up a rickety staircase past several floors with one or two rooms on them. They finally reached a small, cramped room at the top of the stairs, and Harry's eyes were assaulted by a garish orange that covered all of the walls as well as Ron's bed. He blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the color, and finally made out the images of people flying rapidly around on broomsticks, the backs of their orange robes bearing a symbol of two crossed C's. The pictures were moving as in Harry's dream. He chalked it up to magic and dropped his suitcase on the floor with a thud, shaking his sore arm while keeping a tight grip on the photo album with the other one.

"Chudley Cannons," said Ron proudly, pointing at the walls, "my favorite team."

"What do they play?" asked Harry, sitting down on the camp bed across from Ron's.

Ron stared at him. "Quidditch, of course."

"What's Quidditch?" Harry asked nervously, wondering if it was very important.

"Oh." Ron looked apologetic. "Sorry, I thought you knew." He gave Harry a speculative glance. "Been flying before?"

"Not really," said Harry, wondering if the flashback with his parents counted.

"I'll teach you," Ron offered, "then we can play Quidditch together. Me and Ginny and the twins play for the team at Hogwarts."

"All right," said Harry, still wondering what Quidditch was. He looked around the room, starting slightly when he saw a tank holding a frog on the windowsill. Books and cards lay in an untidy heap in the corner. Harry wondered if any of them contained information about magic and felt a sudden wave of jealousy swoop down upon him. If he had gone to Hogwarts when he was eleven, he'd know all about Quidditch and flying and spells. Ron was so lucky to grow up in a magical family.

"D'you want to put your stuff away?" Ron asked, eyeing Harry's suitcase curiously. "I think Mum's enlarged the wardrobe a bit for your clothes."

"Oh – yeah," said Harry quickly, shaking himself out of his thoughts. He unzipped the suitcase and took out a stack of clothes, putting them in the wardrobe along the back wall, which like the car looked much bigger inside than outside.

"What are those?" Ron asked, pointing to the pens and papers left inside the suitcase.

Harry blinked. "Pens and paper. For notes."

"Oh," said Ron, nodding in understanding, "that must be the Muggle version of quill and parchment."

"Er, yeah," Harry answered awkwardly. That must be why the Hogwarts letters smelled like ink and calligraphy.

"Well – we should probably get downstairs," said Ron, heading toward the door, and then, he burst out, "Do you really – you know – have that scar? On your forehead?"

"Er –" Harry stared at him, taken aback. No one had ever wanted to see his scar before – he'd always thought it was the worst part of his face. "Yes…? I do?"

Ron looked as if he were about to say something, but he closed his mouth. "Let's go downstairs, mate," he said, grinning, "I'm starving."

Harry's stomach growled loudly, and he grinned back. "Me too."

* * *

"It's from my friend Daniel," Hermione explained, as Ginny gazed at the glass-encased model of the solar system. "He loves astronomy and said he wanted to give me something to remember him by when I moved from London."

"London?" Ginny's head snapped up, her brown eyes searching Hermione's face.

Hermione nodded. "I went to an independent boarding school there, only, I was a day student, so I lived with my mum and dad. Then after the – the explosion," she swallowed with some difficulty, "we moved to Surrey and I met Harry at Stonewall."

A shadow passed across Ginny's face. "Did this explosion happen about a month ago?"

"Yes – how did you know?" Hermione's mind flashed to the awful day on the street, and then she remembered a later newscast about the Dark Mark being in the sky. "Oh –"

"It was a Death Eater attack," Ginny told her grimly. "My friend Colin – his dad was there. Colin was so shaken when he heard, couldn't decide whether or not to tell his parents what Death Eaters were."

Hermione nodded. "I was there, too," she said softly, her hand unconsciously rubbing the pearl that hung on a chain around her neck as she thought about her parents.

"Oh – I'm sorry." Ginny's face was full of apology. "So – where do you think he got the model?" She peered at the sparkling sun in the middle of the glass dome. "It looks almost exactly like something you can buy in Diagon Alley."

"What's Diagon Alley?" asked Hermione curiously.

"It's where we get everything for school," Ginny replied, shooting another searching look at Hermione, "it's in London. Only wizards and witches can see it, though Muggle-borns can also bring their parents in if they want."

"Maybe they sell a M-Muggle version of the model," said Hermione. "My friends certainly aren't wizards." Although they had disappeared rather quickly from the library…

Ginny shrugged. "I'll ask Dad. He works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office for the Ministry, so he should know."

"The Ministry?" asked Hermione with interest. "Ministry for what?"

"Ministry of Magic," Ginny answered, looking at Hermione oddly. "Do Muggles not have a Ministry?"

"We have a lot of Ministries," Hermione answered, "they're for different things. There's a Ministry of Defense, Ministry of Justice, Her Majesty's Treasury, Department of Health…"

"So there's not one big Ministry that holds it together?" Ginny asked.

"Well – yes – it's called Her Majesty's Government, though it's really run by the Prime Minister and not by the Queen. Who heads the magical government?" Hermione asked with interest.

"Minister of Magic," Ginny answered. "Currently it's this bloke named Fudge, though he's a right idiot most of the time. He keeps denying the Death Eater attacks in London, even though everyone sees the Dark Marks in the paper." She scowled and shook her head.

"Ginny!" Ron hollered from somewhere below them. "Mum wants you to come to come to the kitchen!"

"I'm _coming,_ Ron!" Ginny yelled back, her eyes flashing in annoyance. "I swear, he's such a prat sometimes," she sighed, and she trudged out of the room, Hermione trailing behind her with a frown. Ron had merely asked Ginny to come to the kitchen…but then again, Hermione had never been one to understand sibling dynamics, no matter how hard she tried. There were just some things she couldn't learn from books, and familial interaction was one of them.


	9. Weasleys

"Harry, dear, are you sure you don't want some more beef?" asked Mrs. Weasley, her serving ladle hovering right above his plate.

Harry fidgeted uncomfortably, his face burning. "I'm fine, Mrs. Weasley," he mumbled, "thank you." Mrs. Weasley had been trying to make him eat more food throughout dinner, but Harry was too full now. Even though he had been eating a little bit more at the Dursleys' house, he still wasn't used to too much food at once. If he ate any more now, he was likely to sick up.

"Don't worry about Mum," Ginny whispered, leaning over Harry and plucking the ladle out of her mother's fingers, dumping the beef onto her plate. "She's always trying to feed people loads of food." She flashed him a grin. "Save some room for dessert," she said, "Mum makes the best pudding."

Harry smiled and caught Hermione's eye across the table. Her plate was also clean, her hands folded primly in her lap as she stared at Ginny's brother, Ron, with horrified fascination. Ron was shoveling food into his mouth faster than the speed of light. For a moment, Harry was unpleasantly reminded of Dudley.

"Slow down, Ronald," Mrs. Weasley scolded.

"Yeah, Ronniekins," Fred teased, "that's not the stellar behavior you'd expect from a prefect."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "As if everyone doesn't see it in the Great Hall during mealtimes," she said.

Ron's ears were slowly turning red, and he swallowed his food loudly. "Shut it."

"Don't tease your brother," Mrs. Weasley admonished, and she flicked her wand. Harry and Hermione's empty plates floated toward the sink. Hermione's head swiveled as she watched their trajectory, her eyes gleaming with a strange hunger.

"Dessert, Mum?" Ron asked hopefully.

"In just a minute, dear." Mrs. Weasley stood and looked thoughtfully around the table. Fred, George, and Ginny had just finished their last bites, while Ron seemed to be refusing to eat any more after his siblings' comments. Mr. Weasley hadn't yet returned form work. Harry knew that the eldest Weasley children, Bill and Charlie, worked in different countries. Percy, who used to be a prefect at Hogwarts, worked for the Ministry like Mr. Weasley, but he was having some sort of row with the rest of his family and was staying in his own flat.

"Pudding!" Ginny exclaimed gleefully, her brown eyes brightening as a beautifully made, enormous Christmas pudding hovered above the center of the now-empty table, setting itself down with a soft thump.

"All right, here are the plates," said Mrs. Weasley, doling out clean plates and spoons to everyone seated "Enjoy yourselves. Harry, Hermione, happy belated Christmas." She smiled warmly at them both.

"Aren't you going to have some, Mum?" George asked.

"No, dear, I'm not in the mood for sweets. Go on, then." Mrs. Weasley walked to the sink and turned on a small radio, humming and flicking her wand occasionally as the dishes washed themselves. Soft strains of Christmas music permeated the air.

Harry waited until everyone else had dug their spoons into the pudding before carving out a small portion for himself. The pudding was rich and delicious, melting on his tongue slightly before it hit the back of his throat. Warmth spread throughout his body, and he closed his eyes contentedly. Dinner at the Dursleys' had never been like this – full of warmth and laughter and easy conversation, despite Harry's awkwardness at being a guest in someone's home, eating someone else's food, and being gawked at by the Weasley children when they thought he wasn't looking. He knew that they were trying to see his curse scar, but it wasn't all that special, was it? It was just a mark on his forehead, shaped like a lightning bolt.

At least they were friendly and didn't try to treat him like a leper as his schoolmates at Stonewall once did.

"Do you like the pudding?" Ginny asked, her brown eyes sparkling.

Harry nodded, smiling. "This is the best dinner I've ever had," he declared. At the sink, Mrs. Weasley's cheeks suffused with pleasure.

"Yeah, Mum, great cooking," said Fred.

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said.

"Oh, it was no trouble at all, dear," said Mrs. Weasley, her cheeks bright red.

"When's Dumbledore coming, Mum?" Ron asked, scraping his spoon against the plate.

"After dinner, and he only wants to speak to Harry, Hermione, me, and your father, so all of you are to go to your rooms when you're done," Mrs. Weasley answered.

"Aw, but _Mum_ …" Ron pleaded. He stopped when Fred gave him a significant look. "All right."

George winked, and Harry shot a confused look at Hermione, whose brow knitted in puzzlement.

An hour later, Dumbledore was sitting at the kitchen table across from Harry and Hermione, sipping a cup of tea as Mrs. Weasley had a murmured conversation with her husband, who was standing outside at the back door.

"How do you like the Burrow?" Dumbledore asked, as Mrs. Weasley stepped back and opened the door, letting in both her husband and a gust of icy air.

"It's lovely, sir," Hermione answered, her expression guarded.

"It's fine," Harry said.

"I'm sorry I'm late," said Mr. Weasley, sitting down and warming his hands with a cup of tea. "Somebody was out Muggle-baiting again –"

"It is perfectly fine, Arthur," Dumbledore interrupted, steel in his tone, and his expression warmed again as he looked at Harry and Hermione. "I am very glad you have arrived safely. Was the trip here any trouble?"

"No, sir," Harry answered. Hermione shook her head.

"Very good," said Dumbledore, studying Harry and Hermione for a moment. "The first things you'll need to begin learning magic are wands, which can only – reasonably - be found in Diagon Alley, the wizarding shopping place in London. We will be traveling there on New Year's Day to buy your wands and other supplies."

"I don't have any money, sir," Harry said, his heart starting to race. The Dursleys had never seen fit to give him pocket money.

Dumbledore looked at Harry thoughtfully. "Do not worry, Harry, we will provide for you. You as well, Miss Granger."

"I can pay – " Hermione started, but Dumbledore held up a hand.

"Like I said, do not worry."

"You'll be able to use the old textbooks in the house," Mrs. Weasley offered. "They're a little bit worn, but still readable."

"Thank you, Molly," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling.

"Who will be teaching us, sir?" Hermione asked.

"Ah, excellent question, Miss Granger. You will be taught by one of Hogwarts' former professors, Remus Lupin."

"Oh, he's an excellent professor," Mr. Weasley nodded. "The kids loved him. It's a pity that he couldn't stay longer."

"A great pity," Dumbledore agreed, "he was one of my best." He paused and looked around carefully. "Professor Lupin will also be assisted by his friend, Sirius Black."

"Sirius Black!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked.

Harry's jaw dropped open. "Sirius Black? The…the dog-man? My godfather?"

"The murderer?" Hermione whispered, just as Mr. Weasley roared, "The traitor?"

Dumbledore waited until shock had silenced everyone in the kitchen. He pushed his spectacles up his nose and leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Fourteen years ago, Sirius Black was convicted of killing thirteen Muggles and his old friend Peter Pettigrew, as well as betraying Lily, James, and Harry Potter to Voldemort."

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley nodded, fury on their faces.

Harry stifled the urge to ask questions, and continued listening.

"The Order caught Sirius two weeks ago when he escaped from Azkaban – the wizarding prison – and questioned him using Veritaserum – a truth potion. It turned out that Sirius did not betray the Potters; Peter Pettigrew did. Peter framed Sirius by publicly accusing him of betrayal, then he killed the Muggles and escaped using his Animagus form – a rat. Pettigrew cut off his own finger so that it would appear that Sirius had killed him.

"Now we know that Sirius Black is innocent, and Peter Pettigrew…alas, his location is unknown."

Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Weasley looked completely floored. Harry thought back to the night that Sirius had attacked him. Most of what he'd said matched to Dumbledore's story, but there were a few details missing. Sirius had said that he and Peter had "switched at the last minute." Switched what? And Dumbledore hadn't said whether Sirius was really his godfather or not. Harry hadn't seen him in any of Lily's photos, but he _had_ claimed to be closer to James than to Lily.

Harry looked up at Dumbledore, who seemed to be expecting something. "Is Sirius Black really my godfather, sir?"

"Sirius Black is indeed your godfather, Harry," said Dumbledore. "He and your father were particularly close friends, both at Hogwarts and during the war."

Harry nodded, thinking of the dream – flashback – he'd had of the toy broom, his parents, and Sirius.

"Sir…" Hermione said thoughtfully, tilting her head a little. "Where will Professor Lupin and…Mr. Black be staying? At the Burrow with us?"

Dumbledore turned to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, an inquiring expression on his face. "I – well – " Mrs. Weasley stammered, "I suppose that would be all right. We can put them in Bill and Percy's old rooms, or the twins' when the kids go back to Hogwarts."

"Unfortunately, Sirius Black is still a fugitive to the Ministry," Dumbledore said. "Kingsley has asked to be in charge of his search so that he can mislead it." He paused. "The Order will strengthen the protections on the Burrow. Arthur –"

"I won't say a word about Sirius," said Mr. Weasley, holding up his hands. "And I don't even associate with Kingsley normally."

"Thank you, Arthur. Molly, you're certain that you are all right with letting Sirius stay here? He and Remus are currently sharing a flat in London, but with Remus' condition and the Death Eater attacks…"

Mrs. Weasley nodded. "The Burrow is welcome to anyone in the Order." Apprehension flitted across her face, but it was soon replaced by a warm smile.

"As for Remus'…condition?" Mr. Weasley asked, shooting an uneasy glance at the teenagers that did not escape Harry's notice.

"Professor Snape will continue to provide him the potion," Dumbledore answered, "and Remus will move to Hogwarts while he is ill. Sirius's Animagus form is a dog, so he can accompany Remus."

Harry and Hermione exchanged very confused glances.

"Do you have any questions?" Dumbledore asked the teenagers.

"What condition does Professor Lupin have, sir?" Hermione asked.

"Only he has the right to tell you," Dumbledore replied firmly. "However, it will leave him incapacitated at certain times."

Hermione sat back, subdued, her brow creased in thought.

"Harry? Any questions?"

Harry shook his head. "No, sir." In truth, a million questions were crowding his mind, but he didn't think he had enough space to pick them out. His mind was running a mile a minute. He had a godfather…a _fugitive_ godfather. He grinned slightly – that was pretty damn wicked. But what exactly did godfathers do? He knew that there was some sort of religious duty associated with the position, but he didn't know what.

"Very well," said Dumbledore. "Arthur, Sturgis will arrive on New Year's Day to accompany you to Diagon Alley, and Remus and Sirius will arrive once the term begins at Hogwarts on January 15. Harry, Miss Granger, enjoy your holidays." He stood and crossed the room to the fireplace, throwing a handful of white powder from the jar into the blazing flames. The flames turned a bright green, and Dumbledore stepped inside, shouting "Hogwarts!" He disappeared in a whirl of black smoke.

Hermione goggled. "How did he do that?" Dumbledore had come in through the back door when he'd arrived at the Burrow.

"Oh! That was Floo powder, dear," said Mrs. Weasley, "it's a form of transportation. You throw the Floo powder in and shout the name of your destination."

Hermione looked at the fireplace, the glint of curiosity back in her eyes.

Harry stood and handed his cup to Mrs. Weasley, quietly thanking her for the tea. After a moment, Hermione followed, coming to a halt as they caught sight of the long, fleshy strings rising up the staircase.

"What is _that_?" she asked, astonished.

* * *

"Extendable Ears," Fred explained, as George, Ginny, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and he crowded the small landing right in front of Ron's room. He handed Hermione a piece of flesh-covered string with two bulbous ends. "The third fully developed product of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, run by yours truly and his twin." He and George bowed together with a flourish.

"They're for eavesdropping," Ginny explained, completely unabashed. "We use them to listen in on the Order meetings. And this meeting, of course."

"What Order?" asked Hermione, frowning. Dumbledore had mentioned that some Order had captured Sirius, but she'd forgotten to ask what it was.

The discussion with Dumbledore still bothered her. She wanted to trust the headmaster, but she still felt like he was hiding loads of information, despite all that he'd revealed. She also hated the fact that he called her "Miss Granger" but called Harry by his first name. Why was she a stranger while Harry wasn't? What kind of game was he playing? Hermione smiled slightly. A month ago she'd never have thought to question the headmaster of a school, even if it wasn't _her_ school. What was happening to her?

Ron's voice shook her out of her thoughts. "Dad and Mum are in a group called the Order of the Phoenix," he explained, clearing his throat and stepping backward into his room so that everyone else could stand comfortably without falling down the stairs. "It's run by Dumbledore. They fight against Death Eaters and try to figure out what You-Know-Who is doing, since the Ministry refuses to do it."

"You-Know-Who?" Hermione asked, puzzled.

"Oh. Yeah. You know…"

"I don't, actually," said Hermione.

"Voldemort," Ginny interrupted, rolling her eyes. "Ron's afraid to say the name."

Ron flushed.

"So the Order caught Sirius Black," George said, and he whistled. "I can't believe we're going to have a fugitive staying in our house."

"What do you know about him?" Harry asked eagerly.

"I reckon you know more about him than we do," said Ron. "The Order said he was following you around in your Muggle neighborhood."

"Oh – yeah – he was." Harry ran a hand through his hair nervously, and all eyes except Hermione's flicked to his briefly exposed scar. "He just wanted to talk to Dumbledore, really. He told me he was my godfather, and he told Dumbledore he was innocent, like you heard in the kitchen."

"It's true that he has an Animagus form?" Fred asked, looking impressed.

"Er…he can turn into a dog, if that's what you mean. I saw him do that." Harry fidgeted. Hermione wondered if he was going to talk about how Sirius had defended him from the Death Eaters, but he didn't say anything more.

"Wicked," said George. "Animagus transformations are really advanced magic."

"Is it a human-to-animal transformation?" Hermione asked, determined to find out more.

"Not just any animal," said Fred. "You turn into an animal that matches your inner personality, or something like that."

"And you retain your human mind, which is different from ordinary Transfiguration," said George. "If you Transfigure someone into a toad, their brain will be like a toad's. But Animagi…their brain is still human, but their physical form is animal."

"That's amazing," Hermione breathed, her mind running through the implications of such a feat.

"I didn't know you were so interested in Animagi," Ginny said, looking at the twins with something akin to suspicion.

Fred waved his hand airily. "Had to research it to make Canary Creams for the business," he answered.

"Is Weasleys' Wizards' Wheezes your own company?" Hermione asked.

"Pretty much, yeah. We want to open our own shop in Diagon Alley, but we haven't got the money," said Fred, looking – for the first time – a little bit sad.

Harry grimaced, sympathetically.

"What exactly do you sell?"

"Fake wands, joke sweets – we're still working on it," said Fred. "Been taking orders at Hogwarts since the beginning of term."

"I have the pleasant duty of confiscating the products if I see them being sold," Ron sighed.

"Ah yes, Prefect Ron, ever noble," Fred grinned.

"Though not so noble as to confiscate them when they're being sold to second-years or older," George said.

"Yeah, well," Ron muttered, "everyone but the first-years should already know better."

Fred clapped Ron on the back. "Knew you weren't going to turn into Percy, ickle Ronniekins," he said with a laugh.

"You never had it in you," George said proudly.

Ron looked as if he didn't know whether to be pleased or ashamed. Hermione frowned. The prefects at Witsford strictly adhered to the rules. She would've got the position if she hadn't been a day student, and she doubted that she'd have worked very well if Ron had been her partner.

"What did they mean about Professor Lupin's condition?" Harry asked.

"Er…" Ron's face was slowly starting to flush again. "We can't tell you. It wouldn't be right to, anyway."

"He has a furry little problem once a month," said Ginny with a smirk.

Hermione blanched as an unfortunate image involving the menstrual cycle, rabbits, and her impression of Professor Lupin crossed through her mind.

"Not like _that_ ," Ginny said hastily, catching the expression on Hermione's face.

"Oh. Eurgh…that's _gross_ ," Ron said, disgusted, as realization dawned on his face. Ginny scowled fiercely at him.

"It's perfectly natural," Hermione said archly, raising her eyebrows.

"Yeah, but…" Ron made a face and shuddered. Fred and George sniggered quietly.

Harry cleared his throat, looking considerably discomfited. "Anyway, erm…so….what kind of –" He gasped suddenly, his face white as a sheet, clutching at his forehead and letting out a cry of pain as he stumbled backward into Ron. Ron caught him and looked wide-eyed at Hermione as Harry convulsed.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Ron, panicked.

"Visions," she answered shrilly, suddenly remembering their telephone conversation from so long ago. "He gets – visions of things – his scar –"

"I'll get Mum and Dad," said Ginny, running down the stairs.

"Can we wake him up?" asked Fred, his wand pointing at Harry. "Cold water, perhaps?"

"I think so, I don't know," said Hermione, her heart pounding as she looked at Harry helplessly. Bile rose in her throat. "I've never been with – maybe I should get ice – or – or –"

" _Aguamenti!_ " Fred shouted. A stream of water hit Harry's scar and splashed across the rest of his face.

Harry woke with a start, his chest heaving as he looked around with wide, terrified eyes, the green fragmented through the droplets on his glasses. "What – what happened?"

"You had a seizure, mate," said Ron, releasing Harry as he clutched the stair rail, shaking.

"Harry?" Hermione said, hesitantly. "Did you – see – anything?"

Harry nodded. He looked sick. "There was a Death Eater…I was – I had a wand." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I cursed him with something like 'Crucio' – and he screamed – I said that he deserved it for his failure to bring me in. To bring 'Potter' to…to me…but it wasn't really me…"

Ron's eyes went wide, and he exchanged a look with the twins. He opened his mouth to say something, but snapped it shut as Ginny raced up to the landing with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley in tow. "Harry, dear, are you all right?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

Harry's white face now had a greenish tinge. "I think I'm going to be sick." Ron jumped out of the way as Harry doubled over and retched at the threshold to his room. "Oh God – I'm sorry –"

" _Evanesco_ ," said George quietly, his wand held loosely in his hand. The vomit disappeared.

"We need to contact Dumbledore," said Ron.

Mr. Weasley's voice was sharp. "I'll firecall him. Don't move." As he rushed down the stairs, Harry sat down on the landing, still trembling. Everyone hovered uncertainly around him.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked, her voice soft. She knelt down and touched his shoulder gently.

Harry took a deep breath, his green eyes haunted as he looked up at her. "Yeah. I think so." He took off his glasses and tried to clean them with his still-damp shirt. "I think…I wasn't myself in the dream. I mean. I was cursing the Death Eater, but it wasn't _me_. It was as if I were in someone else's body."

Mr. Weasley came up the stairs again. "Harry, Molly, come with me to the kitchen. Everyone else, to your rooms – now."

The Weasley children scrambled to obey. Ginny pulled Hermione downstairs, following Harry and her parents until they reached the first floor landing where Ginny's tiny room was located. "Do you still have the Extendable Ear Fred gave you?" Ginny whispered.

Hermione looked down at her left hand and nodded. She hadn't even realized that she was still holding the bulbous little string.

"Good. We're going to listen." Ginny waited for her parents' voices to fade away, then she held up an Extendable Ear and pressed it to her own, gesturing for Hermione to do the same. The fleshy strings began to stretch, winding around the rest of the staircase and through the hallway toward the back of the house. Hermione started slightly as Harry's and Dumbledore's voices became louder.

"I felt this sharp pain through my scar and this horrible rage…"

* * *

Harry's hands clutched the table as he finished describing his vision to Dumbledore. He and Dumbledore were alone in the kitchen; the professor had sent Mr. and Mrs. Weasley out politely. Harry was certain that Hermione and at least one of the Weasleys were listening with the Extendable Ears. They didn't seem to feel ashamed about eavesdropping on the other meeting.

"Firstly, Harry," said Dumbledore, drawing Harry's attention back to his grave, blue-eyed gaze, "that was not _you_ in the vision. I believe that was Voldemort."

Harry closed his eyes as dizziness overtook him. "What do you mean, sir? Do you mean that I…I was in his head?"

"That is exactly what I am saying, Harry," said Dumbledore gently. He held up a hand as Harry opened his mouth to ask a question. "Deep breaths, Harry, calm down. We must discuss the vision before it escapes your memory. Afterwards, you may ask me any question you like."

Harry could not refuse the steel undertone in the gentle voice. "Yes, sir."

"Thank you, Harry." He surveyed Harry, making sure that he held eye contact with the boy before continuing. "Can you tell me what the man in the vision looked like?"

Harry bit back the bile rising in his throat as he recounted the vision. "Erm, he was kind of heavy, thickset. Dark hair, I think, though I couldn't really tell. The whole place was dark. He was wearing a mask and robes, like the Death Eaters I've seen before."

"What exactly did Voldemort say to him?"

"Erm," said Harry, his palms curling around the edge of the table again. "He said that…that the man needed to be punished for his failure to bring me in. He said…Voldemort said…that it should've been easy to kidnap me since I had no protection. I think the man was trying to explain…but Voldemort cursed him again. That's all I can remember. "

Dumbledore's face was grave. "Thank you, Harry." He heaved a deep sigh, and Harry pondered just how old the man was. "Questions, Harry?"

Harry hesitated. "Sir? What was that curse he used?" He could still hear the man's screams in his mind. Death Eater or not, no one deserved to be in that much pain.

"The curse that Voldemort used is called the Cruciatus Curse. It puts a person in extreme pain and its use is legally forbidden, though Voldemort does use it to punish his followers."

"How…how did I get into his head? Sir?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore eyed the scar on Harry's forehead. "I am not certain," he said slowly, "but I think the scar from the Killing Curse links your minds somehow. Now that Voldemort has partially regained a body, it is easier for you to access his mind. I think your exposure to magic has also helped to strengthen the link."

Harry began to feel nauseous. "Does that mean…does that mean I'll be seeing what he does all the time? Can he see what I'm doing too?"

"I believe that right now the connection is only opened when Voldemort is feeling extreme emotion," said Dumbledore. "I do not think he is aware of the link yet. However, it would be wise for you to learn how to…block it off, so to speak."

"How do I do that, sir?" Harry asked desperately. He didn't fancy going into some evil maniac's head all of the time.

Dumbledore looked at Harry carefully. "The Potions professor at Hogwarts is skilled in Occlumency – the defense of a mind against external forces such as Voldemort's emotions."

"The potions professor? Professor…Snape?" Harry recalled.

"Yes." Dumbledore's face was unreadable. "Do you wish for him to teach you?"

"Yes, sir." Harry nodded vigorously.

"I shall ask him to begin training you after you've received your wand," said Dumbledore, his eyes glinting with something like triumph, though it disappeared as soon as Harry looked more closely. "Will you be able to wait until then?"

Harry nodded. Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George would probably feel uncomfortable with having a professor in their home during the holidays anyway. Plus, Occlumency might require a wand like the rest of the magic Harry had seen.

"Take care, Harry," said Dumbledore, and he stood, Flooing away to Hogwarts. Harry stared at the ash accompanying the departure, rubbing his scar as the vision played again in his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to stop thinking about it, but the man's screams echoed over and over.

"Harry."

Harry started at the touch on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," said Hermione, looking at him in concern. "Do you want to join us in the living room? Fred and George have all of these wizarding sweets and I have chocolate, and Ron said he'd teach us wizarding chess and card games…" Hermione trailed off, looking guilty. "We were listening in on the conversation, but we're not going to ask you about it. Are you all right?"

Harry smiled despite himself. "I knew you were. And yes, I'm fine."

"So are you coming?"

Harry rubbed his eyes and glanced at Hermione's watch. "Isn't it a bit late?"

"Eight o'clock?" Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"Right. Yeah." Harry really wanted to sleep, but he was afraid to close his eyes. "I'm a bit tired, but I'll – yeah. I'll come with you."

Hermione gave him a strained smile. "All right."

"I'm so lousy at this," Hermione muttered, as the black knight on the chessboard brutally knocked down her white pawn.

"You're right about that, missy!" shouted her rook in a tinny voice. The pieces remaining on the board nodded and began shouting at her in a similar fashion.

Hermione glared at the animated figures, suppressing the urge to stick her tongue out. Wizarding chess was different from regular chess; the pieces actually moved and talked. Hermione supposed that it was like the moving wizarding photographs. Everything moved by itself in the magical world.

"Shut up," Ron growled at the white pieces. His own pieces were standing quietly; Ron was extremely good at chess, and they trusted him to make the right moves. "Damn…can't do that…might jeopardize the queen…"

Hermione's eyes wandered as Ron pondered his next move. The fire was roaring merrily, and in the corner was the grandfather clock whose hands bore the names of the Weasley family members and whose numbers were replaced by locations like "work," "home," and "traveling." On the floor, Ginny was explaining the different kinds of wizarding sweets to Harry and convincing him try a little of each one, while Fred and George sat on the sofa, racing to build card towers.

"No, no, don't topple –" _Snap!_ George groaned as his card tower exploded in a haze of smoke, singing the top of his hair.

"Dear brother of mine, I do believe you must give me the last Chocolate Frog," Fred grinned. George sighed and handed the packaged sweet to his twin. The sweet croaked and hopped out of the wrapper, and Fred caught it easily, sticking its head in his mouth. "What d'you like so far, Harry?" he called.

Harry stuck a yellow jelly bean in his mouth and spat it out with a grimace. "Not the –" He turned the little blue bag over, reading the gold writing in the center. "Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans," he answered.

"What flavor did you get?" asked George.

"It was yellow. I thought it was lemon…but it tasted like earwax."

Fred snickered. "Every flavor means _every_ flavor," he said. "I got a bogey-flavored one once. It was yellow-green. I thought it'd taste like pickles."

Hermione tried to fathom why anyone would want to eat a bean that tasted like pickles in the first place.

"Try a red one," said Ginny, handing Harry an innocent-looking reddish-pink bean.

Harry gingerly took a bite. "Strawberry," he nodded approvingly.

"Checkmate!" Ron suddenly crowed, and Hermione sighed as Ron's pieces cheered loudly, while her white pieces bowed down in defeat. "Good game," he said with a smile that lit up his whole face.

Hermione met his very blue eyes, felt her face burn for no reason, and hastily sat down next to Harry, taking out a sweet from the basket lying on the floor. "Fizzing Whizbee," she read, "float on the ground and scare your Muggle friends!"

"Oh, yeah, those make you levitate," said Ron, examining Hermione's box of chocolate with interest. "Where did you get this?"

"A friend of mine gave it to me," Hermione answered.

Ron lifted the lid and took out a piece of dark Belgian chocolate, popping it into his mouth. He raised his eyebrows. "It's good. Tastes exactly like Honeydukes' chocolate."

"What's Honeydukes?"

"Oh, it's this sweets shop in Hogsmeade – a village near school. Hey, Gin, come try a piece."

"Already have," Ginny replied, digging through the bag of Every Flavor Beans.

Hermione frowned. This was the second Christmas gift she'd received that could be found in the magical world. The astronomical model that could've been found in Diagon Alley was from Daniel, while the chocolate was from Richard. She remembered their odd behavior during their visit and the way they had randomly disappeared from the library. Could they actually be wizards? But that was impossible! If they were wizards, she'd never have met them at Witsford; they would've gone to Hogwarts. Unless two wizards had been disguised as Daniel and Richard when they'd come to Surrey….Harry _had_ said that two Death Eaters had attacked him the day after the party, the day after her friends had left….No. No. Her friends had given her the Christmas gifts much earlier, and she was sure that they had left Surrey the day after the party. She hadn't _seen_ a car pick them up, but….Hermione shook her head, refusing to let her thoughts go any further.

Perhaps the wizarding world just had equivalents to dark Belgian chocolate and lovely glass models of the solar system. After all, the wizarding world wasn't that much different from the normal one…there were still dishes and beds and books and chess sets and photos. Everything was just a little bit more interesting.

"Hey, are you going to eat that?" Harry asked, grinning.

Hermione handed him the Fizzing Whizbee still sitting in her hand. "You first."

Harry popped the sherbet ball into his mouth. Hermione squeaked as he floated up in the air for a few seconds, still in his sitting position, and then floated back down without a sound. Harry grinned broadly. "Brilliant. It tastes pretty good, too. Do you want one?"

"No, thank you," said Hermione. The only sweet she liked was dark chocolate. Her parents had drilled into her at a young age that too much sugar would lead to rotting teeth.

"All right." Harry flashed her a grin and tossed a Fizzing Whizbee to Ron. All traces of Harry's previous exhaustion were gone. In the firelight, he looked like any other fifteen-year-old boy enjoying a night in with his friends – nothing like the shy, painfully awkward student who had sat next to her in the Stonewall form room.

The living room was warm and comfortable. Hermione smiled. Although being at the Burrow could never assuage the guilt Hermione felt when she thought of the friends and family she'd left behind, it did ease the ache in her heart just a little.


	10. Lessons

Harry woke to the feeling of something scrabbling over him and lightly scratching his face. With a frown, he sat up, letting out a shout as he saw a fat rat running down his legs and disappearing into the corner behind Ron's pile of books and parchment. Something about rats niggled at the back of his mind, but before he could place a finger on it, Ron sat up sleepily, rubbing his eyes. "S'matter, mate?" he asked. "Another nightmare?"

"No," Harry answered with a frown, picking at the frayed edges of the blanket. "There was – a rat…" He trailed off as Ron let out a loud snore. "Right then," he sighed. He'd woken Ron up every other night this week, screaming and flailing as he watched Voldemort cast the Killing Curse on his mother and himself, and while he was glad that he hadn't had to experience it again tonight, he dearly wished he could have one night of long, uninterrupted sleep. Ever since Voldemort's hatred had pulsed through him that one rainy night at Privet Drive, he hadn't been able to sleep for more than five hours at a time.

He stared out into the dark garden, watching as a lone figure rose up on a broomstick and began to make loops in the air. Ginny had sneaked out to practice Quidditch again; Harry knew that she was the Seeker for the Gryffindor House team. Ron and Ginny had taught him all about flying, Quidditch, and Hogwarts Houses for the past few days. Harry closed his eyes, smiling slightly as he remembered his first flying lesson.

_"Everyone in position? Good. Right, so, try lifting up in the air," said Ron, giving Harry and Hermione an encouraging grin. Ginny hovered up in the air nearby._

_Hermione gripped the broomstick under her tightly, looking as if she were going to be sick. "How? Do we just kick off? From the ground?" Her feet were planted firmly on the grass, and they didn't appear to be moving any time soon._

_"Yeah. Relax your grip a little – you'll get better control of the broom that way." Ron poked at Hermione's fingers. "Relax, Hermione!"_

_Hermione huffed, her cheeks pink, but she let Ron take her fingers and position them correctly._

_Harry loosened his fingers slightly, shut his eyes, and thought of how he felt when he ate the Fizzing Whizbee on Boxing Day, weightless and free in the air for a few seconds. Without waiting for Hermione, he kicked off quickly from the ground, a fierce joy rushing through him as he soared through the air, the wind blowing his hair back from his face and making his eyes water. Ron cheered, and Ginny zoomed toward him and weaved around. He matched her movement, watching the sunlight give her bright red hair streaks of gold._

_"Are you sure you've never flown before?" she yelled, flying under him as he dared to turn his broomstick upside down._

_"I don't know," he answered, righting himself. He thought of the dream he had with his parents and Sirius Black._

_"What does that mean?"_

_Harry grinned and shot downward toward Ron and Hermione, ignoring Hermione's squeals of terror as, with a rush of excitement, he nosedived toward the ground, pulling himself up at the last minute with a sharp breath. He smiled broadly as his feet hit the grass, his heart pumping with pride and adrenaline._

_"Harry!" Hermione yelled. "That was so dangerous –"_

_"Bloody hell!" Ron interrupted, looking at Harry in amazement. "That was_ brilliant _! A real Wronski Feint, Ginny, did you see that?"_

_Ginny landed and looked at Harry with raised eyebrows. "You'd be a good Seeker," she said. "If only you played on the House team…I could finally play Chaser…"_

As Harry reviewed the rules of Quidditch in his head, he watched Ginny dance in the air, her long hair twirling behind her like a glimmering moonlit skirt. An odd disappointment washed over him as she landed and began walking back toward the house. He heard a faint creak as she opened the back door and came inside, and then another as she shut her bedroom door.

Lying down, Harry tried to imagine what his life would be like if he'd gone to Hogwarts. He knew that first-years were sorted into one of the four Hogwarts Houses. Each House was like its own family, with its own common room, set of dormitories, and amount of points that could be gained or lost by House members. Harry figured he would've liked Hogwarts much more than Stonewall, where he'd been outcast, alone, and indifferent to everyone until Hermione came along. At Hogwarts, he probably would've been in Gryffindor with the Weasleys and best friends with Ron and Hermione.

Ron and Ginny claimed that there were three "good" Houses and one "bad" House. All of the Weasleys were in Gryffindor ("for the brave of heart"), though they had friends in Ravenclaw ("bookworms") and Hufflepuff ("a little boring but loyal"). Slytherin House was an enemy to all of the others; apparently it was full of Death Eaters' children or "pureblood idiots who hated Muggles," notably one "slimy bastard named Draco Malfoy." Harry still had trouble believing that someone actually existed with that name, but Ron had assured him that Draco Malfoy was unfortunately quite real.

Harry pondered whether Slytherin was really as evil as Ron and Ginny had claimed. After all, at Stonewall, people had claimed Harry was a juvenile delinquent, but that was an outright lie. He didn't doubt that there were Death Eaters' children in Slytherin House, but surely not all of the Slytherins were "useless, slimy snakes."

With a shrug, Harry let his thoughts wander, closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep. In the corner, a large grey rat with one missing toe crept out onto the floor, scampering down the stairs to the kitchen and nestling itself in the pantry.

* * *

Hermione cast Harry and Ron a disapproving look as they helped themselves to some breakfast the next morning. "I see that _you're_ ready and dressed to go to Diagon Alley," she said, looking up from her perusal of the newspaper.

Harry felt the heat rise in his cheeks as he looked down at his blue- and green-striped pajamas.

"There's nothing wrong with eating breakfast in your pajamas," said Ron, his mouth full of eggs. "It's the holidays, after all." He shrugged.

Hermione glared at him fiercely and swept upward, dropping her plate in the sink with a loud clang and stalking out of the kitchen.

Ron looked after her, befuddled. "Is she always like that?" he demanded, turning to Harry.

Harry looked back at him, equally bewildered. "No." He'd never known Hermione to have a temper.

"Girls," Ron sighed, shaking his head and pouring himself some orange – no, pumpkin – juice.

"Yeah." An image of Ginny flying in the moonlight flashed through Harry's mind, and he felt his face flush as he tried to shake the thought from his head. He grabbed the newspaper curiously. This was the first one he'd seen since arriving at the Burrow. The title of the newspaper, the _Daily Prophet_ , stood out in big black letters above an equally bold headline.

**Death Eaters Attack Major Muggle Underground Stop**

_The Dark Mark floated high in the sky as over 300 Muggles were evacuated and rescued from Paddington Station, a major Muggle Underground stop, on the night of New Year's Eve. Five unidentified Death Eaters stormed the station and began to Stun and hex Muggle passersby while casting Blasting Curses on the train and on the walls of the station. Ministry Aurors rushed onto the scene and drove off the Death Eaters before they could cause any more damage; however, no Death Eaters were apprehended. While no Muggles were killed, several were injured and directed to the nearest Muggle hospital with the help of local Muggle authorities._

_The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, stated that this act of violence was the work of "rogue radicals who had a tragic hate for Muggles," and that it was not at all related to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named._

Underneath the article, a large picture showed the glowing Dark Mark illuminating the partially collapsed Paddington Station. Frazzled policemen moved in out of the frame.

Harry frowned. He'd never been to Paddington Station, but he had a feeling that it was important to Hermione. Perhaps her old school or house had been nearby.

After finishing the rest of his breakfast, he went to Ron's room and changed into a jumper and jeans, pulling on Ron's old black wizard's robe over it. The sleeves billowed slightly as he held his arms out, and the fabric swished about his ankles. Harry grimaced slightly; he almost felt as if he were wearing Dudley's old hand-me-downs, even though he had fitting clothes underneath.

"Hey, mate, you ready? Dad and Sturgis are already waiting downstairs." Ron stood at the doorway expectantly. Harry guiltily noted the dark circles that stood out prominently on the freckled face. Ron shot him a strange look. "You all right, mate?"

"Yeah," Harry said, nodding. "Just a bit nervous about getting my wand, that's all."

A look of envy passed over Ron's face. "I've never been to Ollivanders – I have to use my brother Charlie's old wand." An embarrassed flush crept up his face. "Wands are expensive," he mumbled, and he scuffed the carpet with his toe.

Harry knew very well what it felt like to not be able to afford something. "I never had any money in the Muggle world," he told Ron. "Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon never gave me pocket money or bought me anything new till this year. They always spent all of their money on my cousin, Dudley."

Ron looked immensely cheered, and then a questioning expression came over his face. "I wonder who's paying for your wand, then."

"Definitely not my aunt and uncle," said Harry, shaking his head emphatically. Although they'd been treating him more nicely, they'd flatly refused to acknowledge his existence on Boxing Day when he'd left to go to the magical world. "They hate magic."

Ron plopped down onto his bright orange bed, his face still curious. "That bad, huh?"

Harry nodded shortly and went down the stairs. He hadn't told Ron much about his life at the Dursleys'. He'd simply told his new friend that he'd gone to the local Muggle school, tried to keep his marks up, and avoided his aunt and uncle when he could. Although life at Privet Drive hadn't been too terrible once Harry had started at Stonewall, he didn't want Ron to know that he'd slept in a cupboard under the stairs for the first ten years of his life or that he'd basically been a servant to his relatives until he'd ended up in hospital.

"Ah, there you are, Harry!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed. Sturgis, the square-jawed wizard, nodded once at him in acknowledgement, while Hermione gave him a strained smile. "If you'll just hold still for a moment – we're going to put glamour charms on both of you so that you won't be recognized." He tapped Harry's head once with his wand, and Harry felt his hair fall down flat onto his face. It changed from jet black to light brown and brushed the tips of his eyelashes, covering his scar. His spectacles also changed from round, black frames to square, tortoise-shell ones. Next to him, Hermione's hair changed from bushy brown to a sleek blonde, and her eyes from brown to blue. She blinked rapidly.

"What happened to my eyes?" she asked curiously, staring at the new Harry and picking up a strand of blonde hair, examining it with fascination.

"Your eyes are blue now," said Harry.

"Really? That's incredible. Eye color is genetic – I didn't think you could ever change it –"

"We didn't exactly change it," Mr. Weasley said, leading them out into the back garden. "It's just a temporary charm. It'll wear off in a couple of hours."

Hermione nodded, though she still looked as if she were burning with questions.

"We're going to Apparate," said Mr. Weasley, checking his watch. "Hermione, grab my arm and hold on tight. Harry, grab onto Sturgis. On the count of three – one – two – three – go!"

Harry gasped as he felt his whole body being squeezed as if through a very thin, very high-pressure tube. When the squeezing sensation stopped, he and Sturgis were standing at the end of a street in front of a shabby, narrow shop, whose small window displayed a wand lying on a faded purple cushion. Harry tried to look around at the rest of Diagon Alley, but Sturgis blocked his view and forcefully pushed him inside, Mr. Weasley and Hermione followed closely behind. Harry caught a glimpse of a sign above the door that said "Ollivanders Wand Shop."

"Ah, Mr. Potter," said a soft voice from the dusty shadows. Harry jumped as an ancient, wispy-haired man appeared at his side. "I wondered when I would finally be seeing you."

"Mr. Ollivander, sir," said Harry nervously.

"And this must be Miss Granger," said Ollivander, looking past Harry's shoulder at Hermione. Harry suddenly remembered the glamour charms and wondered how Ollivander could recognize them. "Which one of you would like to go first?"

"Go ahead, Hermione," said Harry, seeing the eager look on Hermione's face. Hermione stepped forward.

"Wand arm?" Mr. Ollivander asked.

"Right arm, sir?" Hermione said, questioningly.

"Very well, hold it out then," he said, puttering about the shelves as a tape measure danced around Hermione's outstretched arm.

"Ah, yes. Try this one." He set down five boxes on the counter and opened one of them, pulling out a wooden stick. "Oak, ten inches, unicorn hair…well, what are you waiting for? Give it a wave."

Hermione waved the wand, and Harry ducked as several boxes came flying toward his head.

"Perhaps not," said Ollivander, gazing at Hermione with wide silvery eyes. He frowned and pulled out a box from one of the shelves. "Try this one. Nine and a half inches, dragon heartstring, ash."

Hermione jumped backward as she accidentally set the floor on fire.

"No matter," Ollivander said, looking considerably livelier than he had before. The fire extinguished itself as he handed Hermione another wand. "Try this. Ten inches, willow, dragon heartstring."

This time, Hermione managed to cover the counter in ice. "Is there something wrong with me, sir?" she asked tentatively.

"Oh, no, no, no. The wand chooses the witch, Miss Granger. Your wand is here waiting for you. We have yet to find it."

Hermione looked at Harry worriedly. Harry attempted to look reassuring, but in reality he was quite entertained by Hermione's mishaps so far.

"Ah yes…a tad unusual…" Ollivander muttered. "Try this one, Miss Granger. Vine wood, dragon heartstring, ten and a half inches. Very versatile."

Hermione waved the wand, her eyes lighting up as a series of blue and gold sparks flowed through the air. "I think this is it," she said wondrously. "I can feel it."

Ollivander smiled peculiarly. "Yes, Miss Granger, you are correct." He turned his silver eyes onto Harry. "Are you ready, Mr. Potter?"

Harry nodded, stepping forward. He held out his right arm and watched as the tape measure began to measure the length of his forearms, wrists, and fingers.

"I remember your father and mother, you know," said Ollivander, going toward the back shelves and pulling out several boxes. "It seems like just yesterday that they were in here, getting their wands. James Potter…mahogany, eleven inches, pliable, excellent for Transfiguration. Lily Evans…willow, ten and a quarter inches, swishy, nice wand for charm work. I do wonder what that combination could produce…"

Harry tried many more wands than Hermione, accidentally breaking glass, flooding the store, and turning one of the boxes into a mouse in the process. The pile of wands stacked higher and higher, and Harry began to get frustrated and impatient. Ollivander, on the other hand, seemed to become more and more excited with each attempt.

"Oh, no, that won't do at all…" Ollivander muttered, shaking his head and plucking the length of poplar out of Harry's hand. "I wonder…" He turned his silvery gaze onto Harry's forehead. "Curious…" He disappeared to the very back of the store for a moment, carrying a dusty wooden box when he emerged. Laying it down on the counter, he took it out almost reverently and handed it to Harry. "Try this one. Eleven inches, holly and phoenix feather, a very unusual combination…"

Harry grasped the wand, his eyes widening as his whole body tingled and a stream of brilliant red and gold sparks shot out of the wand. "This is it," he breathed, feeling the magic thrum through his veins.

"Very curious," Ollivander said, his eyes flicking to Harry's scar. His voice was as soft as it'd been when they first entered the shop.

"What is it, sir?" asked Harry, unnerved.

"The phoenix whose feather is in your wand only gave one other feather, for one other wand," Ollivander replied. "That wand is the one that gave you your scar."

"You mean…" Harry stared at Ollivander in disbelief, and he felt a wave of dizziness strike him. "You mean my wand is related to Voldemort's?"

"Brother wands, yes," said Ollivander, still in the same soft tone. "I think we can expect great things from you, Mr. Potter. For He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things – terrible, yes, but great."

Harry's palms sweated, and he looked down at the wand with horror, resisting the urge to throw it as far away from as possible. He nearly dropped it as he stepped backward, crashing into Hermione with a grunt. Mr. Weasley, who had been standing outside with Sturgis guarding the door, came in and handed Ollivander a handful of gold coins, quickly escorting the teenagers outside.

"We're not going anywhere else," said Mr. Weasley, "it's not safe." He lowered his voice. "Professor Lupin will bring the rest of your materials when he comes to to each you. Grab my arm, quickly, now." As soon as they were ready, Mr. Weasley nodded sharply at Sturgis and disappeared with Hermione as a loud _crack!_ rent the air. Harry caught a glimpse of a black-robed figure walking towards him as the squeezing sensation threatened to crush his body again. When the Burrow's back garden reappeared, Sturgis waved his wand to take off Harry's glamour, told Harry to quickly get inside, and disappeared with another _crack!_

Harry entered the kitchen to find a hook-nosed man sitting at the table, sipping a cup of tea. He had long, greasy black hair and fathomless black eyes, and he looked oddly familiar. Hermione was nowhere to be seen.

"Harry, this is Professor Snape," Mr. Weasley said. "He's going to be teaching you Occlumency. Professor Snape, this is Harry." He smiled warmly at Harry and left the kitchen, shutting the door behind him quietly.

Snape sneered at Harry, disgust rolling off of him in waves. Harry squared his shoulders and extended his hand nervously. "Professor Snape, sir. Harry Potter."

Snape did not shake Harry's hand. "I am well aware of who you are," he sneered, and he gestured for Harry to sit down. Harry did, watching the professor warily. "Put your wand away, boy," Snape sneered, and Harry looked down at the wand clutched tightly in his right hand. Harry stuck it into the pocket of Ron's old robe. "Now," said Snape softly, "do you even know what Occlumency is, Potter?"

"It's the defense of the mind against external attacks, sir," Harry quipped, remembering Dumbledore's explanation.

Snape sneered. "Very good, Potter. I see that you do have some intelligence in that miniscule brain of yours."

Harry felt his face heat in anger. He'd barely met Snape two minutes ago, and the man was already insulting him. He looked down at the table, avoiding Snape's eyes.

"Already losing focus, Potter?" Snape said softly, coming around the table and standing over Harry. "I should've known. Your father could only ever focus on the Golden Snitch – his attention span was too short to pay attention to anything slower."

"Don't insult my father," Harry hissed, feeling a white-hot anger rush through him.

"Precious _James Potter_ ," said Snape, his voice dripping with contempt. "He died a fool, you know. The idiot thought that he didn't need his wand against the Dark Lord…"

Harry took a deep breath and tried to muster up the indifference that he used to use to shield himself in the hallways of Stonewall High and the walls of Privet Drive. Snape was just another classmate who thought he was a freak…Snape couldn't hurt him…Snape –

"Look at me, Potter!" Snape snarled, and Harry jumped in his chair, glaring fiercely at the professor. Something clicked in the back of Harry's mind as he took in the sallow skin and crooked teeth that were currently an inch away from his face.

"You're Severus!" Harry blurted out, remembering the photograph in the album of his mother.

Snape looked faintly surprised for a moment, but he quickly collected himself. "Excuse me, Potter?" he said in a dangerously quiet tone. "Did I give you permission to use my first name?"

"No, sir," Harry protested, "but –"

"You _will_ be quiet, Potter," Snape said softly. "You _will_ listen. You _will not_ interrupt me. You _will_ address me as 'sir' at all times. You _will not_ use my first name. You _will not_ talk back to me."

Harry shut up and nodded, glowering resentfully at Snape.

Snape's eyes searched Harry's face for a moment, and then he whirled around abruptly, taking his seat across from Harry. "The basic principle behind the art of Occlumency is the control of emotions." His voice was dry, as if he were giving a lecture to a classroom full of students. "Your connection to the Dark Lord only allows you to view his thoughts when he is experiencing extreme emotion, is that correct?"

"Yes, sir," said Harry.

Snape smirked faintly. "The Dark Lord is not an Occlumens. Rather, he is a master Legilimens – he is able to extract emotions and thoughts from people rather than block them."

"Do you mean he is a mind-reader, sir?" Harry asked with a slight frown.

"No, Potter, he is not, as you so crudely put it, a 'mind-reader'," Snape sneered. "The mind is not like a book that can be opened and perused at will. It is a complex and many-layered thing. A Legilimens can explore a person's mind with a specific intent. For example, the Dark Lord always knows when someone is lying to him."

Harry was beginning to get unnerved about Snape's constant mention of the Dark Lord – not to mention annoyed at how rudely Snape was treating him. Unconsciously running a hand through his hair, he asked, "How do you know so much about Voldemort, sir? Have you met him before?"

"Do not say his name, Potter!" Snape snarled, and he clutched his left arm as if in sudden pain.

"I'm sorry, sir – I didn't know –" Harry stuttered, taken aback by Snape's reaction.

Snape visibly restrained his temper and looked at Harry coldly. "Do not say it again, Potter. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said quietly. He was still confused about Snape's explanation of Legilimency; it sounded just like mind-reading. He didn't know why people were so scared of Voldemort's name, either. Dumbledore seemed to have no trouble saying it. Then again, Dumbledore didn't keel over when the name was mentioned.

"As I said, the principle behind Occlumency is the control of your emotions – or in some cases, the emptying of your emotions. When you go to bed tonight, I want you to empty your mind of all thoughts and feelings." Snape's black eyes bored into Harry's. "I will return tomorrow at two o'clock for your next lesson. Rest assured, I will know if you have not been practicing." He stood abruptly and turned toward the back door, quickly Disapparating as soon as he reached the garden.

Harry sighed and looked at the spot where Snape had disappeared. "Empty all thoughts and feelings," he repeated to himself. If he were still at Privet Drive with no friends, that would be easy – how many times had he lain in bed, staring at the ceiling dully after finishing his chores and homework? But ever since he'd met Hermione and learned about magic, he'd felt more alive and excited than before. Every day, he had something new to think about, something new to learn and to feel and to look forward to. And Snape was asking him to go back to the dull torpor that used to be his constant state of mind? Impossible! Plus, from what Harry had seen, Snape had trouble controlling his _own_ emotions – how did he expect Harry to do it?

Still, Harry knew that he had to try – even if Snape wasn't a shining example of an Occlumens himself. Harry really didn't want to look into Voldemort's mind again; the thought alone made him nauseous. Maybe the Occlumency lessons would also get rid of his nightmares.

* * *

Hermione came downstairs to the kitchen, a book tucked under one arm. Harry was sitting at the table, rubbing his temples and looking rather pale. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said unconvincingly, giving her a pallid smile. "Where've you been?"

"Up in Ginny's room, writing letters to my parents and friends," she said, and she shook her head in exasperation. "I don't understand why they use quills instead of biros – quills are terribly messy. I haven't been able to master them until now, or I'd have written earlier." She set down the book distractedly, her mind still on the newspaper article from this morning. Witsford and her old house were located in Kensington; she and her friends used to take the Tube at Paddington every day. She hoped that they hadn't been at the station during the attack. To think that she'd only contacted them once since she'd left the city…

"Are you all right?" Harry asked quietly, gazing at her with his bright green eyes.

"I'm fine." Hermione pushed her thoughts away forcefully. "Mr. Weasley told me that the adults were having some sort of private meeting here." Her eyes narrowed. "Were you at it?"

"Private meeting," Harry repeated humorlessly. "Yeah, you could say that. I met Professor Snape, the Potions professor at Hogwarts."

"Oh! He's teaching you about that Occlu – Occlumency thing, right?" Hermione's eyes sparked with interest. "So you won't be able to see inside Voldemort's head?"

"Something like that," said Harry shortly. He tilted his head curiously at the book. " _The Standard Book of Spells, Year One_?"

"It's Ginny's," Hermione explained. "I wanted to try out some spells after I finished the letter." Harry's mouth twitched. "What?"

"I have biros in my suitcase for writing," he told her. "If you'd told me…"

"Oh, that's all right – I wanted to learn how to use a quill anyway. It's the proper wizarding thing to do," Hermione replied with a smile. She opened the book and began to read out loud. "Let's see. 'The first thing any young wizard or witch should know is a basic theory behind magic. Magic is an innate power that manifests itself in various ways. With the exception of brewing potions, wizards and witches must use wands to channel their magic. Wandless magic, while possible, is extremely exhausting on the mind and body and should only be used in emergency situations.'" Hermione stopped as Harry started to fidget impatiently. "What?"

"Nothing," he said quickly. "I was – I was hoping to get to the spells."

Hermione fixed him with a fierce glare, remembering briefly how she used to do the same to an unrepentant Matthew at Witsford. "If we're going to learn magic, we're going to learn it _properly_ ," she said. "Don't you remember what happened in the wand shop? If we do something wrong, we could accidentally set the house on fire!"

Harry mumbled something under his breath that sounded like "Yes, ma'am," and he sighed. "You're right. Go on."

"All right. 'Another type of magic is accidental magic, most often performed by children in emotionally charged situations.'" Hermione's eyes widened as she scanned the text. "That's what happened at Stonewall with Piers Polkiss!"

"Yeah," said Harry, leaning over her shoulder and reading for a moment. "And it happened when I was a kid, too. Remember that time at the zoo that I told you about, when the glass disappeared from the snake's cage?" Hermione made an affirmative noise in her throat. "That must've been accidental magic. I must've been _really_ annoyed." He shrugged and grinned suddenly. "Polkiss was with me and Dudley at the zoo," he said. "He ran screaming like a baby."

Hermione laughed, brow creasing as she thought of her childhood. "I don't think I did anything magical until Stonewall…well…I did once set my parents' office on fire by accident when I was really angry," she said, "I told them that I'd been playing with the machines, but in reality I hadn't even touched them. I just built up all of my fury and then – boom! The desk was on fire." She paused meditatively. "I was so frightened. I vowed never to let my temper get out of control again, and I suppose I didn't until Polkiss tried to attack us."

"I suppose I wasn't 'emotionally charged' enough once Dudley went off to Smeltings," said Harry thoughtfully. "No one around to make me lose my temper and perform accidental magic. I reckon that's why Dumbledore didn't think I was a wizard."

Hermione suspected that Dumbledore knew a lot more about Harry than he let on, but she didn't say so. She and Harry sat in contemplative silence for a minute and then continued reading, finally reaching a spell on the tenth page of the book. "Levitation Charm, used to lift objects in the air," Hermione read out loud. "Pronounced _Win-GAR-dium Levi-O-sa_ , accompanied by a swish and flick motion of the wrist."

"Swish and flick?" Harry asked blankly. "What does that mean?"

"There's a diagram," said Hermione, pointing to the book with one hand and testing the displayed movement with the other. She pulled out her wand and glanced at Harry nervously. "Shall I try it?"

Harry nodded, practicing the wrist movement and pulling out his own wand. "Go ahead."

" _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," Hermione intoned, pointing her wand at the teacup on the table. Nothing happened.

"You forgot the wrist movement," Harry pointed out.

"Oh, right." She focused on the teacup again. " _Wingardium Leviosa_ …"

" _Wingardium Leviosa,"_ Harry declared, pointing his wand at the teacup with a quick swish-and-flick motion. The cup wobbled in the air for a few seconds before dropping to the table with a clunk. Harry breathed a sigh of mixed frustration and relief. He'd finally succeeded in casting the charm, but he couldn't hold it for very long. Hermione was already able to levitate her cup and move it around at different heights.

"Try it again," she said, "and put more emphasis on the 'o'."

" _Wingardium Levi-O-sa_ ," Harry repeated impatiently, barely remembering to swish and flick his wand in the right manner. The cup lifted off of the table by a few inches, slightly higher than his previous attempt. He focused on it with his eyes and his wand, feeling the magic thrum through his arm.

"Try moving it," Hermione said in a hushed voice.

Harry flicked his wand sharply. The teacup jerked away from the table and shattered into several pieces as it hit the floor.

" _Reparo_ ," said Hermione. The teacup shards came together and melded seamlessly. "I'm glad Ron told us about that one," she said, placing the cup back onto the table. "I can't imagine how many teacups we would've broken without it."

Harry nodded, setting down his wand and shaking the soreness out of his arm. He and Hermione had been practicing the Levitation Charm for the past couple of hours, and he was quite tired, even though doing proper spells didn't exhaust him the same way his previous experiments with wandless magic had. He didn't like touching the wand much, either, since it was related to Voldemort's.

A loud, outraged shout came from upstairs. Fred and George ran into the kitchen a moment later, gleeful smiles on their faces.

"Poor ickle Ronniekins," said Fred with a tragic sigh, shaking his head.

"He won't know what hit him." George grinned.

Ron stormed into the kitchen, his face and ears nearly matching the color of his hair. "Change them back!" he yelled angrily.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked warily.

Ron scowled. "These two tossers have charmed all of my robes to be pink and lacy."

"Pink's a perfectly good color for robes," Ginny said, choking back laughter as she came in behind the twins, "not that _I_ would ever wear such a color."

Harry felt his lips tug into a smile despite his urge to defend Ron.

"I'm sure the charm will wear off," said Hermione, glancing back and forth between the twins and Ron. "Your dad said that most do after a couple of hours."

"Your robes will be back to normal by the time we go back to Hogwarts," George promised solemnly.

"It's just another fortnight," said Fred, with an evil grin. "Another long and beautiful fourteen days."

"I'll show you long and beautiful," Ron muttered, the tips of his ears turning red.

Fred and George raised their eyebrows. "Better not use that one when you're trying to ask Lavender Brown to Hogsmeade," George said lightly, and Harry stifled a snigger.

"How's it coming along, then?" Fred asked, jerking his head toward the textbook. "Done any spells yet?"

"Just levitation," Hermione answered, taking out her wand and demonstrating briefly. Fred and George whistled and applauded. Hermione's cheeks turned pink.

"What've you been doing?" Harry asked, realizing that the house had been unusually quiet during his lesson with Snape and his and Hermione's trials with magic. The only noise they'd heard was the ghoul banging pipes upstairs in the attic, minus the time Ron had come into the kitchen for a drink of water.

"Homework," Ron and Ginny replied simultaneously, while Fred and George replied, "Tool shed."

"Dad's testing your astronomical model out in the tool shed," Fred told Hermione. "We were helping him with the car."

"Astronomical model?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded. "My friend Daniel" – her voice cracked slightly, and she blinked rapidly before continuing –"Daniel gave me a model of the solar system for Christmas. Ginny said that it looked like something you could find in Diagon Alley, so I thought…I mean, my friends aren't wizards, but…"

"I told Dad to check just in case," said Ginny. "I hope nothing's wrong with it – it'd be very useful for my Astronomy essay."

Ron perked up at this. "Can I use it too?" He looked at Hermione hopefully.

"Of course," said Hermione, turning away for a moment. Harry saw her eyes glimmering, and he hesitantly patted her on the shoulder.

After an awkward silence in which everyone looked either at the floor, the ceiling, or their hands, George said, "Dad said he'll bring the model in when he's done. And he wants help from you two on setting up the telly-fone later."

"Telephone?" Harry said.

"Yeah, that thing."

"I thought it already worked," said Ron.

"It broke. Dad thinks he shouted in it too loudly the last time he used it."

Harry sent Hermione an amused glance, knowing full well that telephones couldn't break that way (although he supposed that magical telephones might be able to). Hermione, however, was too busy frowning at George suspiciously. "When's the last time he used the telephone?" she asked.

George shrugged, and nobody else seemed to know, either. Hermione started to worry her lip. "What's the matter?" Harry asked.

"Oh – nothing," she said. "I just – the phone – yes, probably – it makes sense! I think?"

Harry stared at her. "English, please?"

"Remember how I told you that someone called my house looking for you?" Harry searched his memory and nodded. "I think that was Mr. Weasley. I wonder how he did it, though – how did he know which number to call?" Hermione frowned. "Maybe it was the magic I was doing that night? But why wouldn't he call your house? And how would he know the number anyway? We'd just moved in!"

Harry exchanged bewildered glances with the Weasley children. "Er…what?"

"Never mind," she said, shaking her head, "I'll ask Mr. Weasley when he comes back." She chewed her lip, still lost in thought.

"Who wants to play a game of pick-me-up Quidditch?" Ginny suggested suddenly, smiling at Harry. Harry felt his heart jolt with unexpected pleasure. "Fred, George, you should see Harry play. He's brilliant on a broom…."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene in Ollivanders is based on movie-verse, not canon. I couldn't resist having Harry and Hermione show a little bit of magic.
> 
> I've received a bunch of reviews and messages asking about ships in this fic. Like I told one reviewer, there will be hints of teenage attraction which I've based off of my interpretation of canon, but there will be no declarations of soul mates or true love. The characters are teenagers, and I intend to keep them that way.


	11. Teachers

" _Legilimens_."

Harry gasped as a sharp pain lanced through his skull, and Snape began to drag memories out of his mind. He was sitting in the cupboard, counting spiders as he waited to be let out to use the bathroom….Uncle Vernon's sister, Aunt Marge, was at the front door of the house, giving him a nicely wrapped gift that turned out to be a box of dog biscuits…Dudley was hitting him with the knobby Smeltings stick and making fun of his large, worn clothes…he was at the back row of the form room in Stonewall High, feeling a foreign hope run through him as Hermione introduced herself….Harry felt his stomach begin to knot with anger and dread and a terrible feeling of violation, and he threw up a stone wall in his mind against the intruder, trying to keep his breathing calm as he pushed Snape forcefully out of his mind. His mind crashed back down to Earth, and he found himself sitting across the table from Snape, staring into the professor's coal-black eyes. Harry averted his gaze and wrapped his arms around himself, shivering slightly.

"You have been practicing, Potter," Snape said coldly, "but there is still much room for improvement. The defense of your mind must be a proactive activity, not a reactive one. Look at me when I'm speaking to you, Potter!"

Harry's head snapped up, and he faced the professor tiredly. "Sorry, sir."

"The mental shields you conjured against me were sufficient," Snape continued, "but the time you wasted indulging in your memories might very well lead to your death should you ever face the Dark Lord. You must keep your shields up at all times. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said with a frown, though he really didn't understand how to "keep his shields up." Did Snape not want him to feel anything? Ever?

"Has my lesson displeased you, Potter?" Snape sneered.

"No, sir, it's just –"

"Do not talk back to me, Potter."

Harry gritted his teeth in frustration and nodded. Snape was just as bad as Aunt Petunia – he never let Harry ask questions. Harry still didn't know how Snape knew Lily as a child.

"Have you had any more visions of the Dark Lord?"

"No, sir," Harry answered. He hadn't had any more nightmares about Voldemort trying to kill him, either – though he did have a few in which his wand suddenly got a mind of its own.

"And have you been continuing to empty your mind every night of thoughts and feelings?"

"Yes, sir." Mostly, anyway. Sometimes he couldn't help but think of embarrassing things after watching Ginny sneak out and fly in the moonlight. He was very glad that Ron was not the one teaching him Occlumency.

"Keep practicing, Potter. I expect improvement when I see you next weekend."

Harry barely remembered to say "Yes, sir" before Snape whirled around, went to the Apparition point in the back garden, disappearing instantly. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Snape had been teaching him Occlumency every other day since they'd first met on New Year's Day, but now that the Hogwarts term was starting, they'd only have lessons every Saturday. Harry was glad. Occlumency lessons always made him feel like he'd gone through the wringer ten times in a row.

In addition to Occlumency, he and Hermione had been continuing to learn spells from Ginny's old textbooks. After a few more days of working on the Levitation Charm, they had moved on to _Lumos_ and _Nox_ , which lighted and extinguished their wands like the switch on a torch, as well as _Alohomora_ , which undid door and window locks. Fred and George did practical demonstrations and also taught them a few hexes, curses, and jinxes, namely the Leg-Locking Curse (" _Locomotor Mortis"_ ), the Full Body-Bind (" _Petrificus Totalus_ "), the Jelly-Legs Jinx, the Boils Curse, and the Tickling Curse, among others. Hermione had been worried about learning such spells, but the twins had assured her (with smiles that were a little too convincing) that the spells were a regular part of Defense Against the Dark Arts training. Harry picked these defensive spells much more quickly than the Charms and such in the _Standard_ textbook, which both worried and pleased him. Hermione, on the other hand, seemed to pick up the _Standard_ 's spells more quickly than Harry.

Harry's initial reservations about having a wand that was related to Voldemort's still lay in the back of his mind, but he figured that as long as he could make the wand do what he wanted it to, there was nothing wrong with using it. Despite Ollivander's talk of the wand choosing the wizard, Harry knew that he was in control of the wand. The wand – and hence, in a strange way, Voldemort – did not control him.

That was what he told himself every time he picked up the wand, anyway.

He did wonder, at times, where Mr. Weasley had got the gold to pay for his and Hermione's wands. The Weasley family was far from rich, and it would be very unfair and unlikely for them to pay for Harry and Hermione's wands without also buying Ron a new one. Dumbledore must have given them the money – the headmaster did say he'd take care of it. Perhaps Hogwarts had a scholarship fund that Dumbledore had used. Harry and Hermione were supposed to be Hogwarts students, after all.

Harry felt a wave of jealousy pass over him as he listened to the sounds of packing upstairs. From what Ron, Ginny, and the twins had said, Hogwarts sounded like the most wonderful place to go to school. He should've been there, and if he'd only read the letter before his aunt and uncle had snatched it away from him…if only he'd done more accidental magic shortly after that trip to the zoo with the Dursleys…if only he'd written back before Aunt Petunia had a chance to do so...Harry shook the thoughts away quickly. There was no point in dwelling on the past. He was learning magic now with his best friend – the fact that he even had friends still boggled his mind sometimes – and he was living with people who treated him much more nicely than his relatives (even if Aunt Petunia's and Uncle Vernon's behavior had improved recently). A month ago, he wouldn't have thought any of this was possible.

A flash of bright red hair caught his eye, and he looked up to find Ron coming into the kitchen. "Hey mate," he said, taking a long swig of a drink called butterbeer. "How was your lesson with Snape?"

"Snape's a git," Harry groaned, grabbing his own bottle of butterbeer and sighing as the warm liquid went down his throat.

"Yeah, he is," said Ron sympathetically. "He's a right wanker to all of the Gryffindors at school, too. Takes points from us all the time and gives them to his slimy little snakes. He's Head of Slytherin, you know."

Harry nodded. He was still willing to bet that not all of the Slytherins were slimy bastards, but with Snape as their mentor…well, perhaps they were.

"Are you all packed for Hogwarts?" asked a new voice. The boys turned and found a rather disgruntled Hermione heading for the kitchen table, carrying quill and parchment. "Ginny's making a mess of the room right now – I can't write a letter without having her ask me to move every other minute. She said that she's lost her Charms essay, and that she was sure it was on her desk this morning."

"Who do you keep writing to, anyway?" asked Ron curiously. "Your boyfriend?"

Hermione's cheeks turned red. "No, I haven't got a boyfriend," she said, her eyes darting up toward Ron's face and quickly landing on the table. "I'm writing to my parents."

"Oh." Ron looked oddly relieved, and his face flushed as he caught Harry's eye. Harry sighed and fidgeted, color rising in his own cheeks. Ron had started to have feelings for Hermione over the holidays, and the knowledge made Harry feel very, very awkward. He wasn't quite sure of his own feelings toward Hermione – he didn't fancy her, exactly, but she was certainly more than a friend. Or was she? Harry had never really had any friends before he'd met her, so he didn't have a standard of comparison. Hermione didn't make his heart beat too quickly like Ginny sometimes did (or Cho Chang at that Christmas party), but she was definitely the person he'd talk to first if he ever had problems.

"I'm glad that the telephone's finally working," said Hermione absently, blowing the ink dry on her parchment before folding it up carefully. "Now I can ring my friends. My parents said they prefer letters, though."

Harry contemplated whether or not he should write to his aunt and uncle. The thought honestly hadn't occurred to him – they hated anything to do with magic, so they probably wouldn't want to hear from him. Still, he hadn't ever thanked Aunt Petunia for the photos of his mother (even though Aunt Petunia had made him make the photo album instead of doing it herself). He'd been taught in primary that all gifts required thank-you notes, even if the gift wasn't a good one.

It couldn't hurt, thought Harry with a grimace. He picked up the quill, marveling at the strange thin feather in his fingers. He hadn't bothered learning how to write with one since he had biros, but now he wanted to write to his relatives using the proper wizarding way – the thank-you note would be enough to not make them ignore it, but the quill and parchment would be enough to make them angry. Harry grinned deviously.

"Say, Ron, Hermione," he said, "teach me how to write with this, will you?"

* * *

Hermione took a deep breath and dialed Sara Cheung's telephone number, sitting down on an empty box in the tool shed at the back of the Burrow's garage. She didn't really want to have this conversation, but she owed it to Sara, Katharine, and the rest of the people at Stonewall to explain why she and Harry weren't coming back next term. After all, they had welcomed her and befriended her so openly; it felt wrong to abandon them without saying why.

"Hello?" Sara asked. "Who's calling?"

"Hello, Sara," said Hermione, steeling herself, "it's Hermione."

"Hermione!" Sara shrieked in surprise. "Where are you? We just came back to school last week, and you and Harry were gone!"

"We…we've transferred," said Hermione carefully.

"What? Transferred again?"

"We…er…" Hermione cast her mind about for something to say. "This other school contacted us. They've apparently been trying to have us come there for years." Hermione bit her lip and plunged onward. "Harry and I…when we became friends, we kind of found out about this school. His aunt knew, you see, but she kept it secret, and she – she refused to send him there. But we - well I - did some research, and we managed to contact the school, and so we're attending now."

Sara was silent for a moment. "I think I understand," she said. Hermione could hear the puzzlement in her voice. "Which school is it?"

"It's the same one your cousin Cho goes to," Hermione answered, and then she wanted to smack herself, because she and Harry weren't _really_ going to Hogwarts.

Sara paused. "You mean Hogwarts?" she asked slowly.

"No, I mean, sort of –"

"Are you…a witch?" Sara interrupted, sounding stunned. "And is Harry a wizard?"

"Yes," said Hermione, deciding that honesty was the best policy. "Harry and I found out about Hogwarts, so we contacted the headmaster and he – he's set us up with a couple of tutors. We're not really attending Hogwarts, but we're still learning about magic."

"I can't believe it," said Sara. "I thought…Cho told me that everyone magical in the United Kingdom goes to Hogwarts starting at age eleven. So why didn't you...?"

"We were supposed to go when we were eleven," Hermione replied. "There was – a mix-up. It's rather complicated."

"Try me," said Sara.

Hermione launched into an explanation of how she and Harry had discovered the Hogwarts letters, questioned Harry's aunt about what the letters meant, and contacted the headmaster to find out the truth. "So now we're at –" Hermione tried to say "the Burrow," but the words refused to come out. "We're at –" Her tongue twisted oddly again. "We're at someone's house," she finally said. "We've got private tutors to teach us about magic." She refrained from mentioning their names – Sirius Black might still be a fugitive on the Muggle news.

"Wow," Sara said. "And your parents were all right with just sending you off like that?"

"Not exactly," said Hermione, biting her lip. "I had to convince them. Sara…has Cho told you much about what's going on in the wizarding world?"

"No," Sara replied. "Why? She mentioned that I should avoid the city of London if I could help it, and that I should tell her about anything suspicious. Oh, and she said to keep an eye out for you and Harry. Is that something to do with the fact that you're – magical?"

"Something like that," Hermione answered, chewing on her lip. She didn't want to reveal that a mad wizard named Voldemort was after Harry specifically. "It – well, there's an evil wizard called Voldemort who hates non-magical people."

"Like me?" Sara asked. "Muggles?"

"Right, Muggles," Hermione said, surprised that Sara knew the term. "He and his followers – the Death Eaters – they've been attacking people all over the city. Do you know about the attack at Paddington Station on New Year's Eve?"

"Yes."

"That was the Death Eaters. That's why Cho doesn't want you to go into the city."

"Wow," Sara said, and she sounded genuinely frightened with her next question. "Is it safe here? In Surrey? Do you know if Cho's safe?"

"I'm sure Surrey's safe," Hermione reassured her, though she really had no way of knowing. "And I've heard that Hogwarts is the most secure place you can be." Ron and Ginny had said as much. Apparently, Dumbledore was the greatest wizard on Earth, and the only wizard feared by Voldemort. With him as headmaster, Ron had told her confidently, Voldemort wouldn't dare attack the school.

Hermione still wasn't sure how much she trusted Dumbledore. She didn't doubt that he was as powerful as everyone recognized, but she still believed that he was hiding loads of information, especially from her and Harry. Why hadn't they been allowed to explore Diagon Alley as he'd promised on New Year's Day? Why were they training at the Burrow instead of at Hogwarts? (This question had occurred to her several times over the last two weeks, especially since Hogwarts sounded a bit like Witsford.) If Hogwarts were the most secure place on Earth, then surely it would make more sense for her and Harry to learn magic there. The defenses on the Burrow were quite strong, but it wasn't as if Dumbledore would be here at all hours of the day like he would be at Hogwarts. In addition, this Order didn't seem to be doing a very good job. The purpose of the Order was to fight against Death Eaters; why, then, had they not been able to prevent the attack on Paddington Station? Or the one on King's Street, the one that had destroyed her parents' office?

At least all of her friends from the city were safe. They'd all been home on New Year's Day, nowhere near the Tube.

"Hermione? Hello?"

Hermione quickly shook her thoughts away. She'd have plenty of time to dwell on them later. "Sorry, Sara. I was thinking about something."

"It's all right. I wanted to thank you for the information."

"You're welcome."

"When are you going to come back to Surrey?"

"Oh…" Hermione bit her lip. "I don't know. Maybe for the summer holidays." She hadn't had a chance to ask Dumbledore about that yet. She was just grateful to have regular contact with her friends and parents so far.

"Well, maybe we'll see each other then," said Sara. "Take care, Hermione. And…would you ring me if there's any news that – that I might need to know?"

"Of course. Say hi to Katharine, Lina, Will, and Arianne for me."

Sara laughed. "I will. I'm sure Lina will be happy to hear that you haven't eloped with Harry. That was her theory."

"Eloped?" Hermione sputtered. "I'd never do something like that!"

"She was convinced that you two were together after my party," Sara said, sounding amused. "It's not that surprising that she drew a conclusion like that when she found out both of you were gone."

"I'd _never_ elope," repeated Hermione, appalled. "And we're not – together." Harry was quite a nice boy, but….

"I believe you," Sara replied, laughing again. "Don't worry, I'll set her straight. I'll talk to you later then. It's good to hear from you."

"You too. Bye, Sara."

"Bye!"

Hermione hung up the receiver with a satisfied smile. It felt good being able to tell one of her friends the truth about where she was and what she was doing. Ever since she'd found out about magic, it seemed like she'd had to tell lies to at least one person (or set of people) that she cared about. All that she'd been able to tell her friends at Witsford in the city was that she'd transferred to a new boarding school that she couldn't name, and that the courses she was taking were slightly different – not GCSE material. They, of course, hadn't been very happy with those answers and wished to know more, but Hermione didn't want to find out how they'd react if she told them she was learning magic. Matthew and Cecilia were fans of _Lord of the Rings_ and other fantasy stories, but they didn't actually believe that magic was real.

With a sigh, she trudged back through the dark garden for dinner, her spirits lifting as she caught sight of the warm, rich dishes lying in the orange glow of the kitchen. Ron and Harry were setting the table, and he smiled as he caught sight of her, beckoning her inside. Ron opened the door for her with a grin.

"Did you have fun with the felly – I mean – the te-le-phone?" he asked, pronouncing each syllable carefully.

Hermione stifled a laugh. "It was brilliant, thank you. I rang one of my friends in Surrey."

Harry looked up at that, and he gave her a surprised glance.

"A girl named Sara," said Hermione, in response to his silent question. "I told her that Harry and I wouldn't be going back to Stonewall – that was our school before we came here."

"Did you tell her about magic?" Ron asked nervously.

"She already knows about it. Her cousin Cho goes to Hogwarts."

Ron dropped the fork he was holding. "Cho? Cho Chang?"

"Yes. Do you know her?"

"Yeah. Sort of. She's the Ravenclaw Seeker – Ginny hates her."

"Is she as good as Ginny?" Harry asked with interest.

"Better," Ron answered, glancing around furtively. "Don't tell Ginny I said that, though. It's 'cause Cho loves being Seeker, but Ginny would rather be Chaser."

Harry's cheeks were reddening. "Erm…I see," he said slowly. "I, er, I've got to go to the loo." He raced upstairs, and a few moments later, the sound of the door slamming shut echoed throughout the house.

"Wonder what's wrong with him," said Ron, casting a suspicious glance toward Harry's direction.

Hermione couldn't help smirking as she recalled Harry's behavior around Cho. "I'm sure he'll be fine in a minute."

Ron shrugged, looking unconvinced.

Dinner soon started after Mrs. Weasley came bustling into the kitchen, followed by Ginny, the twins, Mr. Weasley, and finally Harry, who looked considerably calmer upon his return (though his cheeks looked rather flushed). After a few moments of appreciative noises for the food, easy conversation began around the table. Mr. Weasley turned to Hermione inquiringly. "Do your parents have something called comp-ters?"

"Computers?" Hermione corrected. "Yes, they have them in their office."

"How do they work? They're a bit like tellies, aren't they?"

"Sort of." Hermione's brow creased as she tried to find a way to explain. "The thing about computers is that you can input your own data into them…."

* * *

Sunday morning was one of the most interesting days in Harry's memory.

"Ginny, dear! Don't forget your cloak!"

"I'm coming, Mum!" Ginny ran past Harry on the narrow staircase, her long red hair whipping behind her. Harry caught a faint flowery scent that left him momentarily breathless, and he paused to regain his senses just as Fred and George trampled down the stairs, the tips of their hair covered in a foul yellow substance.

"I'm telling you, any more _Scourgify_ and our hair will fall off," George snapped. "We're going to have to use Mrs. Scower's to get it off."

"And how exactly are we going to get Mrs. Scower's?" Fred argued. "Are we going to nick it from Filch? You know Mum ran out a week ago, and we're going back to Hogwarts in two hours."

"Nick it from Filch?" said George, a grin spreading over his face. " _That_ , dear brother of mine, is an excellent idea…well, are you coming to eat, Harry?"

Harry jumped. He didn't know that they'd noticed him. "Yeah, I'll be there in a minute. I'm waiting for Ron. He's lost his prefect badge."

Fred and George exchanged shifty glances. "You should come ahead to the kitchen," said Fred, "else the food will be gone."

Harry's stomach growled and he relented. "All right." He followed the twins and sat down next to Ginny, who grinned and passed him a plate full of eggs and toast. "Thanks," he muttered.

"So there's a desk box that connects to the monitor?" Mr. Weasley said to Hermione, looking puzzled.

Hermione took a large swallow of eggs and looked a bit annoyed. "A desktop – which is like the brain of the computer – that connects to the screen, yes."

"Ah! That makes more sense now. I always tell the kids never to trust something if you don't know where it keeps its brain…but for Muggles, the brain is right there! Fascinating…"

"What do you _mean_ you haven't finished your homework?!" Mrs. Weasley screeched at the twins.

"It's just one essay, Mum," Fred placated. "It's simple. It's for Charms. We'll have it done in no time."

"Yeah, Mum, you shouldn't worry," said George. "It's easy."

Mrs. Weasley leaned in closer and glared. "What is that on your hair?" she asked ominously.

Fred and George exchanged nervous glances. "It's nothing," they answered together.

"We just mixed up Ginny's shampoo with some of, er, Hermione's," said Fred.

"It was a nasty combination," said George seriously. "It –"

"Who changed my prefect badge to 'pillock'?!" Ron stormed into the kitchen, his face the same color as his hair. The neat black prefect's badge now said ' _PILLOCK'_ in glowing neon letters.

Mrs. Weasley whirled on the twins. "Fred! George!"

"We didn't do it," they answered, with identically guilty expressions.

"At least your robes are back to normal," said Ginny helpfully.

"You two! Oh, give me that, Ron," said Mrs. Weasley, snatching the badge out of his hand. "Arthur, take a look at this, will you?"

Mr. Weasley looked a bit disappointed at having his discussion about computers interrupted, but he let out a long-suffering sigh and held out his hand. Next to Harry, Ginny was hiding her laughter behind her pumpkin juice. She caught Harry's eye and smiled; Harry felt his face flush uncontrollably.

The roaring of the Floo silenced the room. Everyone jumped up, drawing their wands, as two tall, thin men stepped out of the fireplace, brushing soot out of their tattered robes. One of the men Harry recognized as Sirius Black; the other, who had brown hair with streaks of grey, appeared to be Remus Lupin.

"Remus?" said Mr. Weasley, stepping forward and motioning everyone else back. He dropped Ron's prefect badge on the table with a clang. "We weren't expecting you until the afternoon."

"Our flat's been compromised," said Remus shortly, glancing at Sirius, who was staring at Harry with an intensity that could rival Snape's. "Muggle police got a tip that Sirius was there. We had to leave as soon as we could. We're terribly sorry to intrude." His face twisted in an apologetic grimace.

"Is our Floo safe? Will they track you here?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"It should be fine. They're Muggles, not wizards. I'm going to contact Dumbledore and tell him where we are." He held up his wand, causing everyone to lift their own a bit higher. A silvery ball of light, which quickly resolved itself into a dog, shot out of his wand tip. Remus stared at it for a few seconds, nodded once, and the dog trotted out through the window.

Everyone's wands relaxed. "Well, now that we know it's you, Remus," said Mr. Weasley, sounding infinitely more cheerful, "please, come join us for breakfast."

"What was that silvery thing?" Hermione asked.

"It's a Patronus," Fred explained. "The Order uses them to communicate."

"How did you know that?" Mrs. Weasley asked sharply.

"Come off it, Mum," said George. "We've been spying on the Order meetings for months. I don't see why we can't join. We're of age."

"That's a discussion for another time, boys," said Mr. Weasley firmly, as Mrs. Weasley prepared to launch into a screaming rant. "Remus, please, sit down. You too…Sirius." Mr. Weasley waved his wand, and two more chairs dragged themselves to the table from the pantry.

"Thank you, Arthur," said Remus, taking a seat. Sirius sat down next to him slowly, his gaze still on Harry. Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, and he shifted uncomfortably.

"Hello, Harry," said Sirius hoarsely.

"Hello, Sirius," Harry said quietly. Sirius looked considerably less insane than when Harry had first met him. He was wearing actual robes now, he was clean shaven, and his black hair, though still straggly, had been cut to a decent length. If Harry looked closely enough, he could see that Sirius had once had a rather handsome face.

Everyone else seemed to have fallen silent. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were watching Sirius warily, while the rest of the teenagers were looking at him with curiosity. Remus was stealing glances at Harry. Harry cast about for something to say – if only to get that unwavering gaze off of him. "You look a lot better," he said awkwardly.

Sirius' eyes flickered. He did not look away. "Thank you."

"Would you like something to eat?" Mrs. Weasley asked loudly.

"Some tea would be good," Remus answered. "Tea, Sirius?"

"Yes," said Sirius, still gazing at Harry. Harry averted his eyes and looked down at the remainder of his eggs. He suddenly found himself with no appetite, and he stood up, his chair scraping loudly across the floor.

"I think I'm done," he said. "I'll be…er…upstairs."

Before he could take another step, the Floo roared again. Everyone stood abruptly and drew their wands again. Harry barely had time to catch a glimpse of greasy black hair and sallow skin before Sirius launched himself across the room with a savage war cry and threw himself down on top of Snape. Remus jumped over Sirius' upturned chair and tried to pull him back while everyone else stood frozen with shock. "Sirius, stop!"

"Get that filthy mutt _off_ of me, Lupin!" Snape snarled, pushing Sirius' wand away from his face.

"Sirius –" Remus grabbed Sirius' wand arm, causing a violent explosion of sparks to come out from the tip.

"Get – off – Moony!" Sirius screamed, trying to push Remus off and strangle Snape at the same time.

Fred and George gasped. "Moony?" they exclaimed.

"Stop this at _once_!" Mrs. Weasley screamed, pointing her wand at Sirius. " _Expelliarmus_!"

Sirius' wand flew in an arc toward Mrs. Weasley's outstretched hand. Sirius himself was blasted backward to the front of the fireplace. Remus knelt down next to him as Snape stood up, spitting soot out of his mouth. He looked around at them with a look of bitter hatred. "Your potion, Lupin," he snarled, stalking toward the kitchen table and pulling a glass vial out of his robes. Everyone moved out of the way as he slammed the vial down on the table and went out the back door of the Burrow, Disapparating in the blink of an eye.

"Well!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, and she rounded on Sirius, who was sitting up groggily. "I never! Sirius Black! _What were you thinking_?!" She swelled up like a bullfrog, and Harry jumped backward as the volume of her voice raised several notches. "If you're going to live in this house, you are expected to behave like an adult! _Do you hear me?_ An _adult_! Whether or not you hate Severus, but you have _no reason_ to hex him in _my house_! _Sirius Black! Do you understand me?!_ "

"He understands, Molly," said Remus, and he sent a sharp look to Sirius. "Don't you, Sirius?"

Sirius nodded, a bitter expression on his face. Harry was strongly reminded of his own behavior toward Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon.

"We'd better head to King's Cross," said Mr. Weasley loudly, checking his wristwatch. "Molly, why don't you show Remus and Sirius their rooms while the kids say their goodbyes?"

"We can show Professor Lupin his room," said Fred quickly. "He'll be staying in my and George's old room. C'mon, George."

"I'll show Sirius where he'll be staying," said Mrs. Weasley, still carrying both her and Sirius' wands.

Remus helped Sirius up, and they followed Fred, George, and Mrs. Weasley out of the kitchen. Mr. Weasley stared after them worriedly. "I'll think I'll go and help your mother," he said. "You four, stay here."

Ron, Ginny, Harry, and Hermione looked at each other in silence. "Your godfather's a complete nutter," said Ron.

Harry let out a humorless laugh. "I'm just beginning to realize that."

"He did spend fourteen years in Azkaban," Ginny pointed out. "Dad spent half a day there and came back shaking."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Is it that bad?"

"Azkaban's guarded by Dementors," Ron explained. "They're awful creatures – they suck the happiness out of you and make you relive your worst memories. That's why it's impossible to escape from Azkaban. Nearly impossible, anyway."

"You've got to ask Sirius Black how he did it," Ginny added.

"The twins said that the Patronus is the only way to counteract Dementors," said Ron. "That's N.E.W.T.-level stuff, though."

"Newts?" Hermione asked, puzzled.

"Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests. They're taken in seventh year."

"Like A-levels, but with a much cooler name," Harry said with a grin.

"Are you excited to be going back to Hogwarts?" Hermione asked. "It sounds so wonderful. I wish that Harry and I were going too."

"It's not that great," said Ron. "I mean, it won't be as cool as having Sirius Black as your teacher, even if he _is_ insane."

"Plus, our Defense professor right now is worthless," said Ginny. "You're much better off learning with Lupin."

"I suppose," said Hermione, looking wistful. "I'll miss you all, though. We'll have to write each other often. You can tell us about what's going on at Hogwarts, and we'll tell you what it's like to learn magic from a fugitive."

"All right," said Ron, grinning. "That's a deal."

"You should shake on it," said Ginny, giving Harry a conspiratorial grin.

Hermione extended her hand, and Ron grasped it briefly, his face flushing to the roots of his hair. Hermione seemed to notice this, and color began to rise in her own cheeks. "I expect your letter then," she said, her eyes shifting from Ron to Ginny.

"All right," Ron mumbled.

"They have owls at school, so we won't have to go through the Muggle post office," said Ginny, and in a flash of understanding, Harry suddenly recalled Aunt Petunia telling him to contact Dumbledore by "owl." _That_ was what she'd meant. Wizards probably sent messages by owl just like people had used carrier pigeons in the Second World War.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley returned to the kitchen. Fred and George followed behind them, gleeful expressions on their faces. "All ready to go, then?" asked Mr. Weasley, leading them to the rarely-used front door of the house. "We have to leave now, or else you'll miss the train."

"Oh, be _careful_ , Arthur," said Mrs. Weasley, kissing her husband on the cheek, and she turned to her children. "Fred, George, I want you to take those N.E.W.T.s even if you think that they don't matter to your future – and I don't want any more owls from McGonagall about your products sending any first-years to the hospital wing, do you hear me?"

"Yes, Mum," said the twins, grinning.

"Ron, you're doing a wonderful job as prefect – don't let the twins bother you." Ron snorted. "And Ginny, do be careful in Quidditch. It's such a dangerous sport."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I'll be fine, Mum."

"Oh, come here, all of you," said Mrs. Weasley, holding her arms open, and her children embraced her tightly as a group, looking rather embarrassed. Harry turned his head away; he felt oddly intrusive. He caught a glimpse of Hermione's face and was startled to see an expression of envy pass over it. He hadn't really thought about how much Hermione must miss her parents. She wrote to them so often that he didn't think it was possible for her to suffer from homesickness.

"I'll see you later, mate," said Ron, clapping Harry on the back, as Ginny and Hermione hugged.

"See you," said Harry. He waved at the twins and Ginny, watching them file out of door into the magically enhanced blue Ford Anglia that Mr. Weasley owned. Mr. Weasley hugged his wife and went to start up the car.

"It's just the two of us now," said Hermione softly, sighing, as the car disappeared along the dirt path that led away from the Burrow.

"Yeah," said Harry, suddenly realizing how much quieter – and lonelier – the house seemed without Ron, Ginny, and the twins. "Just the two of us."


	12. Secrets

Remus and Sirius stood in the paddock of the Burrow, watching Harry soar gracefully in the grey winter skies.

"Merlin, he looks like James," Remus breathed.

Sirius said nothing, his gaze fixed on Harry as the boy nosedived toward the ground. He nearly ran toward the boy, worried that he'd crash and hurt himself, but a sharp cry stopped him.

"Harry, be careful!" Hermione shouted, where she was sitting on a thick blanket and reading underneath a nearby tree.

Harry laughed and grinned as he pulled himself upright, his feet brushing the ground. "I'm fine!" he said, dismounting and plopping down next to her. "What're you reading?"

Hermione showed him _Numerology and Ancient Mathematics_. "My friend Matthew gave it to me for Christmas."

"Is that a Muggle book?" Remus asked, coming toward them. Harry tensed as Sirius followed Remus silently. "May I see it, Hermione?"

"Certainly," said Hermione, looking at Remus quizzically and handing it over.

Remus' lips quirked as he flipped through the book. "Some of this is surprisingly accurate," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"There's a class at Hogwarts called Arithmancy," Remus explained. "It's about the magical properties of numbers. I took it as my elective starting in third year. The information in this book – well – the Muggles don't believe that it's real, but some of it is actually true."

Hermione's eyes lit up. "Do you think you could teach me Arithmancy? Maths is my favorite subject – or was, I suppose," she ended with a frown. "I didn't think wizards really had an equivalent."

Remus chuckled. "I might be able to teach you the basics; Arithmancy was never my best subject. I'm actually going to focus on teaching you two Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense – especially the last one."

"Fred and George already taught us some hexes and curses," Harry said, grinning. "They said that it was part of Defense training, but I didn't believe them."

"Did they really?" Remus asked, raising his eyebrows and looking very amused. "To my knowledge, hexes and curses are not part of the Defense curriculum, but they are quite useful for dueling if you ever come across an enemy." He turned and smiled. "Sirius is a wonderful duelist."

A ghost of a smile passed across Sirius' face. "I used to be," he said, "but I'm out of practice. James and I used to duel each other all the time for laughs."

Harry met Sirius' gaze hesitantly. "Was he good? My father?"

"Yes," said Sirius, his eyes flickering. "He was excellent." He nodded toward the Cleansweep lying next to Harry. "He was a wonderful flier too, just like you."

Harry seemed to consider this for a moment. "Can you, er, can you tell me more about him?"

"Yes," said Sirius, a brilliant smile spreading across his face. "Yes, I'd like that."

"Come, Hermione," said Remus in a low voice. Hermione looked at him, surprised. Remus continued, "I think we should give them some time alone. Sirius is Harry's godfather, after all." He smiled sadly and stood, brushing grass off of his trousers.

Hermione bit her lip and stood up, wondering if Harry would be all right being alone with Sirius. Harry had been staunchly avoiding Sirius since Sirius had attacked Snape that morning, though Hermione hadn't had a chance to ask why. After an awkward, silent lunch with the two new guests, Harry had bolted up to Ron's room, spent an hour there, and then gone flying. Hermione had gone to Ginny's room to read halfheartedly, heading outside to keep an eye on Harry once she saw him fetching a broom. Remus and Sirius had joined them shortly afterward, keeping a careful distance from the teenagers.

"I was also friends with Harry's father," said Remus, cutting into her thoughts. "James and Sirius were closest, of course, but they were also very good friends to me. It's – startling to see Harry after so many years. He looks exactly like his father did at that age, but he has his mother's eyes." Remus shook his head and smiled at Hermione. "But enough about Harry. Please, tell me about yourself."

"Oh," Hermione stammered, surprised. "Well, there's not much to tell. I lived in London my whole life until very recently. My parents' office was destroyed by an explosion – Death Eaters, I know now – and so we moved to Surrey, where I met Harry at the local comprehensive."

"Ah, yes, Stonewall High," said Remus, nodding. "Dumbledore told us how he traced some magic there at the beginning of December."

Hermione nodded. "Harry and I both performed accidental magic one day after school at Stonewall." She didn't explain further; it wasn't anyone's business what happened that night between her, Harry, and Piers Polkiss. "Mr. Weasley said that the Order began to track our magic in the surrounding areas after that. That's how he managed to use the telephone to contact my house." She frowned, tilting her head as a thought suddenly struck her. "I wonder why he didn't contact Harry, though. Harry had a telephone too – we rang each other several times."

Remus' brow furrowed. "Did Harry ever use magic inside his aunt's house?"

"I don't know," said Hermione thoughtfully, "but I used magic inside my house shortly before Mr. Weasley called."

"There's your answer," said Remus, and he led her through the back door into the kitchen. On the table rested a pile of textbooks that Remus had brought for their lessons. (They'd been shrunken in his pocket when he arrived; he'd had to take them out and enlarge them, much to Hermione's fascination.) Remus looked through the stack and sighed, shaking his head regretfully. "I don't have an Arithmancy book in here, but if you'd like, I can teach you some of what I remember before we start the formal lessons tomorrow."

"All right," said Hermione, unusually pleased that she was receiving special instruction. She hadn't had a teacher pay much individual attention to her since primary school; at Witsford, everyone competed for the teachers' attention and thus received it in equal amounts, and she hadn't spent enough time at Stonewall to really make a place for herself.

"Go ahead and get some quill and parchment, then," said Remus. Hermione turned and went into Ginny's room with an anticipatory grin, pausing a moment to gaze at the beautiful astronomical model that her friend had given her. Despite its resemblance to a product of Diagon Alley, Mr. Weasley had declared it free of charms, hexes, and jinxes; it was just an extraordinary piece of craftsmanship. Hermione felt oddly triumphant that the model wasn't magical. Some things in the Muggle world were just as good as those in the wizarding one.

She walked onto the landing just in time to see a very annoyed Harry Potter, whose eyes were spitting fire as he thundered up the stairs. She looked at his retreating back, raising her eyebrows when his door slam echoed throughout the house, and went back toward the kitchen, where Sirius was ranting rather loudly at Remus over the stove. Hermione paused at the threshold, wondering if she should go in.

"…don't know how to do this, Remus! I don't know anything about him! I – I don't know who he is. I don't know his favorite color, his favorite food, his favorite Quidditch team. I don't know if he's had any girlfriends, I don't know what he wants to be when he grows up, I don't know –"

"Stop, Sirius," said Remus tightly, turning away. "Please stop."

Sirius quieted immediately. "Remus?"

Remus took a few deep breaths before answering, pouring two cups of tea and handing one to Sirius. "What matters now," he said in a strained voice, "is that Harry's with us. It doesn't do any good to dwell on the past."

"That's easy for you to say," Sirius said in a low and bitter voice, and Remus' cup dropped from his fingers with a large crash. Sirius hissed as the hot tea scalded his fingers.

"Sorry, Sirius," said Remus, though he didn't sound it. He took out his wand and murmured " _Reparo_ " as well as another spell that Hermione couldn't hear.

"I should be the one apologizing," said Sirius haltingly.

Remus' eyes searched Sirius' face. "Apology accepted," he said quietly. He looked past Sirius' shoulder and caught Hermione's eye. Hermione's face flushed and she looked away, embarrassed that she'd been caught eavesdropping. "I've got a student to teach, Sirius. You should go upstairs and talk to Harry."

Sirius whirled around, looking at Hermione with an expression of mixed anger and shame. He nodded at her and stiffly moved past her toward the staircase. Hermione watched him go apprehensively.

"Come on, Hermione," said Remus, smiling kindly. He strode toward the living room. "Let's go and discuss some Arithmancy."

Harry picked at the grass, watching Hermione and Remus go into the house as Sirius told him about James Potter.

"James was a Chaser on the House team," said Sirius. "He was – truly one of the best Quidditch players Hogwarts had ever seen." His gaze swept from the broomstick back to Harry's face. "I expect you would be too, if you'd gone to Hogwarts."

Harry flushed at the compliment. "Ron and Ginny said I'd be a good Seeker."

Sirius laughed. "You always did like the Snitch the best. I thought it was just because it was shiny, but –"

"Wait, what do you mean?" Harry interrupted, confused.

"Oh, right, of course you wouldn't remember." Sirius' face was both sad and wistful. "I bought you a toy Quidditch set for your first Christmas – it included a miniature model of a Quidditch pitch as well as miniature versions of all of the balls. James would try to teach you how to shoot the Quaffle into the goalposts, but you were always more interested in catching the Snitch instead. And eating it," Sirius finished with a grin.

"I – what – eating it?" Harry spluttered.

Sirius smirked. "Oh, yes. You were at the stage where you'd pick up things from the floor and stick them into your mouth whenever you could."

Harry's face was burning despite the chill winter air. "Oh."

The smile on Sirius' face faded just as quickly as it had come. Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as Sirius gazed at him intensely. "Harry," said Sirius, "your Muggle relatives – how were they?"

"Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon?" said Harry, startled. "They were – all right, I suppose. Why?"

"Harry –" Sirius grabbed Harry's wrists convulsively. Harry jerked away from him, his eyes widening in alarm. "Harry, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not being there for you. I…" Sirius took a deep breath. "As your godfather, I was the one who was supposed to take care of you if anything happened to your parents, and I failed horribly."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "S'all right. I mean – my aunt and uncle weren't so bad, especially once my cousin Dudley left to go to Smeltings."

"They treated you well then?" Sirius asked, hope lighting his face. "From what Lily said of her sister…"

"Well, they made me do loads of chores," Harry mumbled. "But they – they still sent me to school and gave me a room and gave me food to eat."

Sirius cast Harry a doubtful look. "I suppose that's all right."

"Yeah," Harry muttered, wishing they could talk about something else.

"Did you get anything good for Christmas?" Sirius asked after a pause.

Harry nodded. "Aunt Petunia gave me a photo album full of photographs of my mother. It was the first gift she's ever given me."

"The first gift?" Sirius repeated slowly. "Do you mean the first good gift?"

"Yeah, a toothpick and a coat hanger don't really count," Harry said, and then his face turned red as he realized what he'd just said. "She bought me a whole new set of clothes and new glasses last month. It was the first time she's ever done that, too."

A horrified look was creeping up onto Sirius' face. "Why didn't she get you all of those things before? What did you wear?"

"Well…I…" Harry shrugged defensively as the questions echoed loudly through his mind. "I mean, it was nice of her. She and Uncle Vernon sent me to the hospital, too, and they'd never done that before."

Sirius' face was white. "Why were you in hospital? Did she – did they –"

"No," said Harry quickly. "There was this bloke at school – anyway, they were a lot nicer to me after that."

Sirius simply stared at Harry for a few seconds, and then his face slowly filled with rage. "You're telling me," Sirius said furiously, "that you never received new clothes, new glasses, or a Christmas gift from your relatives until last _month_? Despite the fact that you've lived with them for fourteen _years_?"

"Yeah," Harry mumbled, heat rising in his cheeks. "When you put it like that – but it wasn't so bad, not really. They didn't beat me or anything."

"Harry," said Sirius, his face burning with rage, and he grabbed Harry's wrist, gently this time. "Harry, I am so sorry. You deserved – still deserve – so much more than _that_."

Harry's face burned with anger and embarrassment. He knew that Sirius was right – he'd often had the same thought himself – but what did it matter now? Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had been treating him loads better recently – that had to count for something. It wasn't like he was still living at Privet Drive, anyway. He stood abruptly, shaking his wrist from Sirius' grip and grabbing the broomstick lying next to him. "I'd better go and put this back. It's getting dark."

"Harry –" Sirius stood, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry shrugged it off angrily, seething on his way to and from the shed. He slammed the kitchen door open, stomping his way up to Ron's room past a startled Hermione, and pushed the door shut with a forceful bang.

Shame mixed with anger as Harry threw himself onto the bed, breathing heavily, realizing that he'd just thrown a temper tantrum equivalent to Dudley's. He remembered Snape's warning that his mental shields should be up at all times, and once again he tried to picture the concrete barriers restraining thoughts and emotions in his mind, but just when he thought he'd built them up enough, a deep-seated resentment took hold of him as he began to think about his life at the Dursleys. He'd dealt with the skimpy meals and torn clothing for years with a resignation that often turned into indifference, though all of that had changed once Hermione had introduced herself guilelessly in front of all of their classmates. That was when Harry began to hope for something better than a life alone – when he began to think that perhaps he also deserved friendship and trust and love and…family.

Harry sighed and sat up as a knock sounded on the door. "Who is it?" he asked.

"It's Sirius." He paused. "May I come in?"

"All right," said Harry.

Sirius left the door open and sat down tentatively on Ron's bed across the room. "Hello," he said quietly.

"Hello," Harry replied, averting his eyes guiltily.

"I wanted to say sorry," Sirius said, "for…insulting your aunt and uncle. I had no right to do that."

Harry looked at Sirius in surprise. "They weren't exactly good to me," he said awkwardly. "They were just – all right." He shrugged, wishing they could talk about something else. "You're right. I deserve better. I…I accept your apology."

Sirius looked as relieved as Harry felt. "So – what have you been doing?"

"Trying to practice Occlumency," Harry answered. "It's not working."

Sirius' eyes flashed with a sharp, disgusted anger. "Snape's teaching you, right?"

"Yeah," said Harry, and again he felt an inexplicable urge to defend someone who he would've normally gladly insulted. "He's – he's not that bad. A bit rude, but – at least I'm not seeing into Voldemort's mind anymore."

"That's good," said Sirius, though he looked as if he believed anything but. He took a deep breath. "Snape and I don't get along. At all. We never have." His fists clenched. "It was – I shouldn't have attacked him this morning. I'll try to get along with him for your sake, and for Remus'. He's helping both of you more than I ever could. Dumbledore trusts him, too."

Harry was a little startled by this last statement. He knew Dumbledore was the head of the Order, but he hadn't really thought about him ever since Dumbledore had visited the Burrow and revealed that Sirius and Remus would be moving in. He quickly latched onto the other parts of Sirius' answer. "You know that potion that Snape gave Remus? What is it for?" The Weasleys and Dumbledore had mentioned something about Remus' condition, but they'd refused to say what it was.

Sirius suddenly looked uneasy. "It's not my place to tell you."

"Oh."

"We should go downstairs," said Sirius, standing up abruptly. "Remus can explain everything."

"Er, okay." Harry followed Sirius downstairs, uncomfortably aware of the tension between them. In the living room, Remus was speaking quietly to Hermione, who was scribbling notes down on parchment at an alarming rate. Harry was sure that the quill she was holding would fly out of her hand if it moved any faster,

Remus looked up with a smile. "Sirius. Harry. What brings you down here?"

"Er –" Harry looked at Sirius.

"The potion," Sirius said, jerking his head toward the little glass vial Snape had given Remus earlier that morning. It was seated on the table next to a large stack of books.

"Oh," said Remus, understanding creeping onto his face. His smile disappeared. "Oh. Well, take a seat, Harry. There's something I have to explain to you and Hermione."

* * *

Hermione looked between Harry and Sirius anxiously as they took respective seats next to her and Remus. The tension between them could be cut with a knife, but Harry no longer seemed to be angry, just uncomfortable. Sirius' haunted gaze was now focused entirely on Remus. Hermione put her quill down and sat back, turning to Remus with an inquisitive expression. His lesson on Arithmancy had been quite enjoyable so far; he was a kind and patient teacher, and he laughed often at the errors presented in her makeshift textbook. Now, however, he didn't seem like he was going to laugh ever again.

"You probably don't know…" Remus began, and he frowned, shaking his head. He bit his lip and took a couple of breaths, clearly unwilling to continue. Sirius placed a comforting hand on Remus' shoulder, giving him a little nod of encouragement. Remus took another breath. "Well, the simple fact of the matter is this: I'm a werewolf."

Hermione exchanged a blank glance with Harry. "A werewolf?" Hermione repeated with faint disbelief. "But you can't be a werewolf!"

"Why not?" asked Remus, clearly taken aback.

"Well – because – because…" Hermione trailed off uncertainly. Remus didn't _look_ like a werewolf from the children's stories she had read; he wasn't hairy and slavering, for one, and he had normal teeth instead of fangs. Still, she supposed anything was possible in the magical world. If Sirius could turn into a dog, why couldn't Remus also turn into a wolf?

Remus' brow creased, and he looked at Hermione strangely for a moment before continuing. "I don't know how much you two know about werewolves in the magical world. I know some of the Muggle stories, and not all of them true. I do turn into a wolf during the full moon. During that time I'm able to infect other people with my lycanthropy – if I bite them while I'm in wolf form, they'll also become werewolves." He held up the vial, sloshing around its steaming amber liquid. "The Wolfsbane Potion that Snape gave me allows me to keep control of my mind. Without it, I turn into an animal whose only instinct is to bite and kill and destroy; with it, I turn into an animal whose mind is controlled by my human self."

"Like an Animagus," said Harry, his eyes darting to Sirius.

"Yes," said Remus, sounding surprised. "Yes, like an Animagus, except that I cannot transform at will. I'm cursed to transform during the full moon."

"So lycanthropy is a curse?" Hermione asked, frowning in puzzlement. She eyed Remus warily. "I thought it was like a…a virus."

Remus was clearly taken off his guard. "I suppose it's – it's more like that," he said. "It's not a curse in the sense that it can be removed by some counter-spell or a simple ' _Finite_ '. It's an illness. There's no cure – there's only a treatment." He nodded toward Snape's potion.

"It's like AIDS," said Hermione, catching Harry's eye, and she felt ill and guilty all at once. "Oh, that's terrible. I'm so sorry."

"It's all right," said Remus, and he smiled wryly. "I've had people react to me in worse ways."

An awkward silence descended upon the room. Remus offered to make tea, to which everyone nodded their assent. Hermione chewed her lip and attempted to study some of the notes she'd taken, but the numbers and words swam before her on the parchment. She wondered what a live werewolf transformation actually looked like, and she recalled Dumbledore's visit to the Burrow. He'd said that Remus had to go to Hogwarts while he was ill – while he was transforming during the full moon. It was probably a dangerous process, and a painful one. As Remus returned, Hermione looked at her new teacher with a newfound respect.

When everyone had sat in silence for a while and taken a few sips of tea, Sirius cleared his throat. "Harry, there's something you should know."

Hermione glanced at Harry and began to gather her parchment.

"No, Hermione, you should stay," said Sirius unexpectedly, shooting a quick glance at Remus. Hermione sat back down, surprised.

Sirius looked Harry directly in the eye before beginning. "Harry, shortly before you were born, your parents went into hiding from Voldemort using something called the Fidelius Charm. The way the Charm works is…well…basically, a secret – such as your parents' location – is hidden inside a single living soul called the Secret-Keeper. No one can know the secret unless the Secret-Keeper tells him or her directly." He closed his eyes. "Your parents asked me to be their Secret-Keeper, but I…I told them to use Peter instead."

Sirius' breath caught in his throat. "Everyone knew that James and I were best friends, and so I thought Voldemort would come after me if he wanted to find out where your parents were hiding. I never thought that Voldemort would suspect Peter. It was the perfect plan…the perfect ruse…" He opened his eyes, and Harry saw that they were glittering with tears. "We knew that someone had been spying on Lily and James for Voldemort, but we didn't know it was Peter." He paused. His hands were trembling.

Harry looked as if he'd swallowed something extremely bitter. He barely noticed Hermione's hand reaching for his and grasping it tightly. "Why are you telling me this?" he whispered.

Sirius took a shaky breath. "Wait. Please. Hear me out." He flinched as Remus placed a hand on his shoulder.

Harry nodded jerkily, staring down at his lap.

"When I found out what Peter had done, I was…I lost control." Sirius' fists clenched, and his voice became strained. "I went after him, determined to have my revenge. I cornered him in the street, and before I could denounce him to the world, he accused me of betraying Lily and James and blew up the street using a hidden wand. Then he cut off his finger, transformed into a rat – he's an Animagus – and disappeared." Sirius looked at Harry, his face a mask of grief. "Everyone thought that I was the Secret-Keeper. The Ministry threw me into Azkaban without a trial, and I was too far gone to even ask for one. I stayed there for years until I heard how the Death Eaters had started to come back. There were rumors that you were a Squib, that you'd never attended Hogwarts….That was when I realized how much time I'd wasted. Fourteen years when I could've been taking care of you, giving you the knowledge and the life that you should have received…." Sirius bowed his head, his breath hitching.

The color had drained out of Harry's face, and he nearly crushed Hermione's fingers as he tightened his grip on her hand. She made a small noise of protest, and he let go, standing suddenly. "I need some air," he said, walking slowly toward the kitchen as if in a trance. Hermione followed him anxiously, sparing a sympathetic look toward Remus and Sirius. Sirius' shoulders were shaking, and he held his face in his hands. Remus was squeezing his shoulder gently.

Hermione shivered as an icy wind hit her face. Next to her, Harry sucked in a huge breath of air, staring up at the black sky.

Hermione touched his shoulder gently. "Harry," she said softly.

Harry blinked rapidly, turning his face away. "Why did he tell me?" he whispered. "What good does it do, knowing about all of that?" He sucked in another breath. "It doesn't change anything. It doesn't make things better."

"Harry…" said Hermione tentatively. "Harry, you know what he wants, right?" She grasped his hand briefly, waiting until he'd met her gaze. "He – he wants your forgiveness. He feels horribly guilty about the past, especially the parts involving you. He's trying to make it up to you."

Harry sucked in another breath, more slowly than he had before, and nodded to show that he understood. Hermione hovered beside him for a moment more, and then went back into the house, shutting the door behind her.

The large grey rat nestled in the pantry of the Burrow nursed its missing toe, then scurried along the shelves and into the kitchen proper. He froze when he heard soft footsteps coming toward him, barely managing to hide in a corner as his old best friends seated themselves at the table. Drat! Why were they still awake? It was the middle of the night, and the only chance he had to complete this mission! He suppressed the urge to jump in recognition as his friends began speaking.

"Can't sleep, Sirius?" Remus asked softly.

Sirius shook his head, the light of the almost-full moon catching the hair that fell into his eyes. "Nightmares."

"I'd brew you some Dreamless Sleep, but I'm afraid I left all of the ingredients in the Muggle flat," said Remus wryly.

"It's all right, Moony," said Sirius, looking out the window. "Full moon tomorrow," he said wistfully. "I wish Prongs were here."

The rat held himself perfectly still, resisting the urge to laugh – or squeak – hysterically with guilt at the mention of James Potter.

"Harry's grown up well," said Remus.

"Yeah," said Sirius, his voice catching. "He has."

They sat in silence, disturbed only by Remus' nervous fingers, tapping on the table. Sirius placed his hand over Remus', and the fingers stilled.

The rat's heartbeat sped up, and he quelled the urge to scrabble impatiently along the walls. They would surely catch him that way. But he needed to transform, needed to complete the task that his master had given him….time was running out….

"We should go to bed," Remus said to Sirius, and the rat bit back a triumphant squeal. "We've got a long day tomorrow."

"Don't you mean you've got a long day tomorrow, Professor Lupin?" Sirius teased, standing.

"Oh, shut it, Padfoot," replied Remus without much heat. "Come on."

Anxiety clawed at the rat's heart as he listened to his friends patter upstairs. He waited for an agonizingly long hour before venturing out into the kitchen and quickly making his way up the staircase to the first landing. In half a minute, he'd transformed from a rat to a short, balding, wheezy man who quickly cast a Disillusionment Charm and Lightening Charm on himself. He pointed his wand at the door whose sign said "Bill's Room," whispered _"Alohomora_ ," and paused, looking down at the restless form of Sirius Black, whose mouth opened in a silent scream. Pity and guilt rose in his heart, and he looked away as he cast a Relaxation Charm on his former friend. Sirius stopped moving, his breathing evening out, and with nine trembling fingers, the wheezy man took a flask out of his tattered robes and pointed his wand at Sirius' head.

" _Accio_ Sirius' hair," he whispered, and a few strands of Sirius' fine black hair fell into the palm of the rat's hand. He quickly dumped them into the flask and stoppered it, sneaking out of the room and re-locking the door before transforming back into a rat and going up two more landings. This time, he stopped in front of a door whose lopsided sign said "Gred and Forge's Room," transformed back into a man, and again unlocked the door.

Remus Lupin was curled up tightly, his body tense even in sleep. The balding man bit down hard on his lip and cast a Relaxation Charm on Remus, letting out a sigh of relief as Remus' body uncoiled slowly. With more confidence this time, he pulled out a new flask, whispered " _Accio_ Remus' hair," and caught the greyish-brown strands that in the moonlight looked at turns silver and gold. Stoppering the flask, the man walked out of the room, relocked the door, and transformed back into a rat.

The rat paused on the staircase, looking upward toward the top floor. Dare he risk it? Sniffing cautiously, he hesitated for a moment before creeping up the long staircase until he reached the topmost landing, where a door bore the sign "Ronald's Room." He transformed back into a man and murmured a quick _"Alohomora_ ," frowning when he heard nothing click. The door was unlocked, then. Turning the doorknob slowly, he stepped into the room that had been his hiding place for so many years and froze as a form near the far wall stirred. He quickly and silently cast a Relaxation Charm, waited until the form was still, and crossed the room slowly to stare down at the son of his late former friend, the friend he had betrayed so soullessly to his master.

Remorse warred with awe as the moonlight illuminated the lightning bolt scar splitting the boy's forehead in two. He nearly squeaked in surprise as he looked down at the boy's face, thinking for a moment that his former friend had come back to life. With a trembling hand, he reached out a dirty hand to brush the top of the boy's head, letting the soft, unruly locks run through his fingers, and then, with a shuddering gasp, he turned around and exited the room, barely remembering to close the door before he transformed back into a rat.

The mission accomplished, the rat scampered down the stairs and across the kitchen floor, squeezing itself into a corner and running between the walls until it reached the outside. Shivering in the cold winter air, he ran a good distance away from the house before transforming back into a man, finally disappearing with a loud _crack_ whose sound was swallowed by the howling winds.


	13. Musings

Harry woke early the next morning feeling unusually refreshed. The sky seemed to agree with his mood, and for a while, he simply stood at the window, watching sunlight slowly spread among the frosty garden. He thought briefly of Privet Drive, feeling a tiny twinge of nostalgia for the garden he used to slave over for hours. He'd hated working in the garden, especially during the summers when Dudley would often tease him or throw dirt in his face, but he had to admit that seeing the plants healthy and blooming gave him a slight sense of accomplishment. Even Aunt Petunia couldn't deny that he'd done a good job at those times.

Harry wondered briefly how his aunt and uncle were doing. He doubted that they wanted to hear from him, but he hadn't had a chance thank Aunt Petunia for the childhood photographs of his mother. Come to think of it, he hadn't asked her how she had known Snape, either…and he wouldn't dare to ask Snape the same question. Snape hated him enough already.

Thinking of Snape made him think of Sirius, which made him think of Remus, and last night's conversation flew to the forefront of his mind. The fact that Remus turned into an infectious beast once a month didn't bother Harry nearly as much as he thought it should. He didn't think there was anything wrong with Remus as a human, so as long as the man didn't try to turn Harry into a werewolf, Harry was perfectly fine having Remus as a teacher. Sirius, on the other hand…

Something tensed and coiled in Harry's stomach, and he pushed the thoughts of Sirius away quickly. Running a hand through his hair, he dressed and went downstairs to find Hermione at the kitchen table, her brows knitted as she read her latest letter.

"Is that parchment?" asked Harry, grabbing a piece of toast. "Did Ron and Ginny write?"

"No, the twins did," said Hermione, looking up with a frown, "but I can't make sense of what they've written." She thrust the parchment at him, and he took it, blinking a little at the scrawl on the page.

_Dear Double H's:_

_By now you must have figured out how the big old Crup escaped its cage. We haven't been able to solve this riddle since Mum wants us to concentrate on our NEWTS_ , _but we know that you have more superior resources, and we would be delighted to know the answer. Please give our regards to your friends as well. We salute them in their ingenuity in keeping mum about our indiscretions._

_Sincerely,_

_Frederick Fabian Weasley and George Gideon Weasley_

Harry raised his eyebrows as he finished reading the letter. "I don't understand," he said, shaking his head. "Perhaps there's some kind of code."

"But what's the code?" asked Hermione, perplexed.

Harry frowned and looked at the letter again. "What's a Crup?"

"A Crup," Remus announced as he entered the kitchen, "is a dog-like magical creature with a forked tail." He poured himself a cup of tea and looked at his new students curiously. "Who's asking about a Crup?"

Harry waved the letter. "Fred and George," he answered.

"Really, now?" asked Remus. He plucked the letter from Harry's fingers and read it, and then he laughed, pointing his wand at the parchment and whispering something. The letter expanded from a single sheet of parchment to three, each one covered with different handwriting. He handed them to a wide-eyed Hermione with a small smile.

"How did you do that?" asked Hermione.

"It's a tricky bit of Transfiguration," said Remus. "They used _Unus Elementum_ , which conceals multiple versions of the same object into one item. It's particularly useful for post." A shadow passed across Remus' face as he caught Harry's eye. "Your father invented the spell when we were at Hogwarts, Harry. He was a master at Transfiguration. We used to use it for…" Remus' voice faltered, and he shook his head. "Enough reminiscing. Read your letters, eat your breakfast, and then we'll begin lessons. Oh, and hand me Fred and George's letter, I think they placed a Concealment Charm on it."

It turned out that the Crup the twins mentioned referred to Sirius; they wanted to know if he'd told Harry and Hermione how he'd escaped Azkaban. The twins asked whether they'd had their Defense lessons yet, while Ron and Ginny both expressed a fervent desire for Harry to come to Hogwarts and play for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Ron also asked if Hermione could come to Hogwarts and "attack Draco Malfoy with those Muggle 'dental tools' in order to send Malfoy's poncy arse running from Muggle technology." Hermione didn't know whether to be flattered or shocked by the request.

After breakfast, Remus asked Harry and Hermione to each demonstrate a Levitation Charm. They did so easily, impressing Remus, who promptly began to teach them the first level of Locomotion Charms, which caused objects to move under the direction of a wand.

"You have to be very careful with Locomotion Charms," warned Remus. "When we were second-years, Sirius and James tried to use _Locomotor_ to move their trunks up the dormitory stairs at the beginning of term. Unfortunately, they didn't have very good control of the Charm yet, and they also didn't know that the Head Boy at the time, Frank Longbottom, was going _down_ the stairs. The trunks knocked Frank out cold. We had to take him to the hospital wing. McGonagall – that's head of Gryffindor House – gave James and Sirius detention for a month." Remus' lips twitched. "Frank never could figure out what made him miss the first day of classes."

"Was he all right?" asked Hermione worriedly. "There wasn't any permanent damage, was there?"

Remus' smile was strained. "No, there was nothing permanent," he replied quietly. "He was fine. He went on to become one of the top Aurors in the Ministry." He shook his head slightly and smiled again, warmly. "Let's take a short break and start on Transfiguration. You'll probably find it useful to take some notes while I explain the theory. We'll work on applying the theory after lunch, and then Sirius and I will teach you Defense."

Harry grinned. He was looking forward to Defense the most.

Transfiguration theory turned out to be one of the most complex things Harry had ever learned – and one of the dullest. He was surprised to find himself losing focus as Remus lectured about the various forms of Transfiguration and the fundamental differences between each one. He stared out the frosted window, running his fingers unconsciously along the frayed quill that was serving as a writing instrument, and he wondered if it would snow. He'd never had a chance to play in the snow when he was young. What would it be like to play Quidditch in the snow? His mind drifted to Ginny's bright red hair –

"Harry?" Remus interrupted, as Hermione poked Harry sharply in the side. "Are you paying attention?"

Harry started, flushing under Hermione's disapproving gaze. "Yes. Er. Sorry."

Remus frowned. "I know this is a little boring," he said lightly, "but you only need to learn it once before you'll learn it forever." He sighed and slid the battered copy of _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ across the table. "Here. Do you think you can finish the first chapter within an hour? I'll ask you a few questions to make sure that you understand, and then we'll have lunch."

Biting his lip, Harry nodded and began to read, feeling a jolt of guilt as he remembered Remus' earlier comment that James had been very good at Transfiguration. He ran a hand through his hair and forced himself to concentrate on the words. Hermione leaned to the side and read along with him, her bushy brown hair tickling his shoulder.

"Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration is like the opposite of the Conservation of Mass," Hermione remarked, as the hour drew to a close. She turned the page. "Oh, look. There's a short section on the Animagus Transfiguration."

"'A wizard's Animagus form cannot be chosen,'" Harry read aloud. "'Like the composition of a wand, the Animagus form reflects upon the wizard's true inner nature. Excessive usage or improper training of the Animagus form oftentimes augments the wizard's animal instincts and sometimes may even result in a complete takeover of the wizard's human mind. Therefore, the Animagus Transfiguration should only be attempted by fully-trained adults.'" Harry frowned at the smudged handwritten note at the bottom of the page. He could make out the words "Moony" and "Prongs," but the rest was scratched out viciously.

"All ready, then?" asked Remus, sitting down with them expectantly. Harry nodded. "Good. Now explain to me the three fundamental steps of Transfiguration…"

Hermione let out a frustrated sigh as she tried once again to Transfigure a quill into a needle. "Intent, visualization, and performance," she muttered feverishly. "Come on, Hermione, you can do it." She looked up and caught Harry's eye, her cheeks flushing. "Sorry," she said quietly.

"It's all right," said Harry. "I can't do it either."

"You can both do it," Remus said firmly. "Just – relax. Don't force the Transfiguration – see it in your head, really see it, and let it flow out of your mind to wand."

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to visualize the Transfiguration the same way she used to visualize chemical reactions. Step by step, in her mind's eye, the quill each of its hairs, the thin spine of the quill turned from delicate bony white to silver and metal, the point sharpened – and – there. That was the needle she needed. She opened her eyes, pointed her wand, focused the sequence of images in her mind, and _pushed_ her magic through her body, her fingers clenching spasmodically around her wand.

The hair on the quill promptly fell off, and the quill turned silver. It did not, however, become a needle. Hermione bit back a sigh of frustration.

"Almost, Hermione," said Remus with an encouraging smile. He Transfigured the quill back to its original state. "Try again."

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath, focusing once again on the transformation in her mind's eye. She focused on the quill lying in front of her, again pushing her magic through her wand, and then – Hermione felt her heart lift. There it was! A silver needle!

"Good! Very good, Hermione," said Remus with a smile. "Go on, Harry, you try."

Harry ran a hand through his hair tiredly and tried once more, shaking his head when his quill remained on the table unchanged.

"Keep trying," said Remus, nodding once at Harry.

By the end of the hour, Harry had managed to Transfigure the quill into a needle. The needle was white, but it was still a needle, which seemed to hearten Harry slightly.

As Remus went to fetch Sirius for the Defense lesson, Hermione stood and stretched, pulling her hair back into a long plait as she gazed out the window, her heart aching as she wished she could share this new world with her parents and old friends.

Harry joined her at the window, handing her a cup of tea.

"It's brilliant, isn't it?" he said. "Magic." He grinned. "I can't wait until we learn human-to-animal Transfiguration. I've always wanted to turn Dudley into a pig."

Hermione felt her lips curve upward into a smile. "I'd turn Polkiss into a rat," she told him, remembering the crude and horrible boy with a grimace.

Harry chuckled. "Yeah. I would too." His brow creased, as if he were trying to remember something.

"What is it?" she asked.

Harry shook his head and shrugged. "What do you think your Animagus form would be?" he asked.

Hermione chewed her lip as she considered the question. "I don't know," she said finally. "I…I imagine I'd like to be a cat."

"A cat?" He looked at her, his brow knitted. "I suppose…"

"You think I wouldn't be a cat?" she asked defensively.

Harry frowned. "Perhaps," he shrugged.

"What form do you think you'd take?" asked Hermione.

Harry grinned teasingly. "You tell me."

Hermione tiled her head to the side as she considered the boy next to her. Unkempt black hair, a thin frame, glasses, and heaps of a talent on a broom….She thought of the way he flew gracefully in the air, and she nodded. "A bird," she said firmly.

Harry scowled. "A bird?" he repeated, disappointed.

"I didn't say it was a small bird!" she defended. "No, you'd be a very noble bird…" She trailed off as Remus and Sirius entered the kitchen. "Hello, Sirius," she said.

Sirius nodded shortly, his gaze almost unconsciously slipping from her to Harry.

"Hello, Sirius," Harry muttered, averting his eyes.

"Sirius and I are going to show you a wizards' duel," said Remus, drawing out his wand as he led them up the hill to the small sunny paddock behind the garden. "We'll be teaching you a few spells after we finish." He directed Harry and Hermione to the tree at one end of the paddock where Hermione liked to read her books. He and Sirius then crossed to the other end, slowly backing away from each other till they stood about ten feet apart.

"The first thing to do in a wizards' duel is bow," Remus announced, his voice carrying across the field despite the roar of the cold wind. He inclined his head slightly, keeping his eyes fixed on Sirius, his wand held out warily in front of him. "For now, of course, we'll be using spells that only have temporary effects and immediate counter-spells. Death Eaters like to use Dark curses and Unforgivables which can't be countered, so the best way to win a duel against them is to avoid getting hit by anything at all by putting up a Shield Charm. We will teach you that later. For now – we duel!" He raised his wand quickly, crying, " _Expelliarmus!"_

A red arc of light soared toward Sirius, who immediately ducked out of the way and roared, " _Levicorpus!"_

" _Protego!"_ A white shield erupted from Remus' wand, deflecting the curse. _"Petrificus Totalus_!"

Sirius ducked; the curse sailed out of the way. A blazing smile lit his surprisingly handsome face; Harry had never seen him so happy. "You've got to do better than that, Moony!" he yelled, closing the gap between himself and Remus. " _Rictusempra_!"

Remus doubled over, wheezing, but he managed to bite out, " _Tarantellegra!_ "

Sirius jumped, but not in time; one of his legs began to beat out a tap-dance rhythm uncontrollably. " _Impedimenta!"_ he shot out, gripping his dancing leg in an effort to halt its motion.

Remus lifted his arm with a great effort. " _Supplanto!"_

Sirius cursed and fell to the ground, his foot still jerking wildly, but he managed to keep his grip on his wand. " _Expelliarmus!"_ he yelled, trying to regain his bearings.

The spell missed Remus by a hair's breath. " _Stupefy!_ " Remus shouted.

A red jet of light hit Sirius directly in the chest. His laughter froze on his face as he keeled over, motionless. Remus pointed his wand at himself, muttered " _Finite_ ," and thenknelt down beside Sirius, murmuring something to revive him. Sirius sat up, dazed.

"You beat me," he said to Remus, disbelief evident in his voice.

Remus' lips quirked. "Yes. I did." He reached out a hand to pull him up; Sirius accepted.

"I'm losing it," Sirius said quietly. "I used to be so quick."

"No," said Remus, "you're out of practice." He placed a hand on Sirius' shoulder. "You'll get it back in no time, Padfoot. Don't worry."

Together, they walked toward Harry and Hermione.

"Did you recognize any of those spells?" Remus asked.

"The Boils Curse," answered Hermione immediately. " _Furnunculus_."

"The Full-Body Bind," Harry replied, "and the Tickling Curse. And" – he hesitated –"was that a shielding spell? _Protego_?"

"Very good," said Remus, looking immensely pleased. "And yes, that was the Shield Charm."

Harry darted a quick glance at Hermione. "I think – we may have done that one," he said slowly, "by accident."

Hermione's mind flashed back to the night at Stonewall. She bit her lip and nodded.

Remus considered them carefully for a moment, his brow furrowed slightly. "Did Fred and George teach you the Disarming Spell?" he asked. " _Expelliarmus_?"

Hermione shook her head, as did Harry.

"Ah," said Remus, with a small smile. "Come on then, stand up. Hermione, you stay here with me, and Harry, you go toward that side with Sirius. Just a few more steps back, Harry. Okay, good." He cleared his throat. "The Disarming Spell does exactly what it says – it disarms your opponent. It's one of the simplest but most effective dueling spells you can use. Now, Hermione" – he turned to her –"what I want you to do is to try to disarm me. Harry, you do the same with Sirius. You raise your wand and say, _Expelliarmus!_ "

" _Expelliarmus,_ " Hermione whispered, making sure that her intonation was correct.

"Good," said Remus. "Now try to disarm me. I won't be defending myself yet."

Hermione raised her wand, biting her lip at the thought of doing something against a teacher. " _Expelliarmus,_ " she intoned.

Remus frowned. "You have to mean it," he said. "Don't hesitate. You won't hurt me – I'll just lose my wand."

Hermione nodded and took a deep breath. " _Expelliarmus!_ "

Remus stumbled backward a little as his wand slipped out of his sleeve toward Hermione. After a little bit of fumbling, Hermione caught it, as Harry's cry of _"Expelliarmus!"_ rang out across the field. Hermione watched as Sirius' wand soared from his hand into Harry's outstretched one.

"You should always prepare to catch the wand as well," said Remus, glancing at Harry and Sirius. "There's no point in using the spell if your opponent can easily snatch the wand back. Try it again."

Hermione handed the wand back to Remus and raised hers. " _Expelliarmus!_ "

This time, Remus' wand came to her easily, and she tracked its arc in the air, preparing to grab it and grinning as she curled her fingers around the narrow shaft of wood.

"Good!" said Remus, taking three steps backward and creating more space between them. "Now let's practice a few more times. You need to be able to cast the spell from a certain distance. I also want you to practice catching your opponent's wand without looking at it."

"Okay," said Hermione, steeling herself for another round. " _Expelliarmus_!"

On the other side of the paddock, Sirius was looking at Harry with an expression of tender pride. "You're a quick learner," he said to his godson, taking his wand back for the sixth time.

"Thank you," said Harry, and he looked away. The weird tight feeling was in his stomach again, coiling and twisting and burning inside of him as he remembered what Sirius had told him last night. He didn't want to think about that – didn't want to think about how guilty and angry it made him feel….

"Harry…" Sirius placed a tentative hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry stiffened and made to move away. "Harry," said Sirius softly. "Please look at me."

With a sigh, Harry unwillingly met Sirius' stormy grey gaze. "What is it?"

Sirius seemed to be struggling for words. "I – I'm sorry, you know," he said, "for everything." His hand tightened on Harry's shoulder. "I can't even begin to express" – he swallowed convulsively –"how sorry I am."

Harry took in the tall, broken man in front of him, and the tight, angry coiling in his stomach dissipated slowly as faint, curious stirrings of pity rose in his heart. Hermione's words from the previous night echoed in his head. Tentatively, awkwardly, he reached out and lightly touched Sirius' shoulder. "It's all right," he said quietly, even though he knew that it'd never really be all right. Nothing could make it all right, not when there were fourteen years to make up for. "It's all right," he repeated.

Sirius' eyes searched Harry's face, asking for permission. Slowly, Sirius took Harry by the shoulders and pulled him inward, till Harry's head was resting against Sirius' shoulder. Harry stiffly wrapped his arms around Sirius, gradually relaxing as Sirius did the same, holding Harry in a tight, warm embrace.

Harry closed his eyes. He couldn't remember being hugged like this before, even as a child.

It wasn't such a bad feeling, really. Not at all.

* * *

Evening found Harry and Hermione in the living room of the Burrow, taking turns reading Remus' old Herbology, Potions, and Defense Against the Dark Arts textbooks. Remus had assigned them homework, much to Harry's dismay, promising to test them on it as soon as he recovered from the full moon. He and Sirius had left for Hogwarts shortly after dinner. Sirius had explained that werewolves did not react to animals the same way as they did to humans; as a dog, he would keep Remus company during the transformation, and then help to take care of him once the transformation was complete. Remus also had the Wolfsbane Potion that Snape had given him, which allowed him to retain his human reason while he was a werewolf.

Harry yawned as he finished reading a section on a magical vine-like plant called Devil's Snare, which used its tendrils to ensnare anyone who touched it and eventually suffocated its victim. He cringed at the thought of encountering the plant, vowing to learn how to create the repelling bluebell flame as soon as possible, and speculating whether or not students worked with the plants at Hogwarts. Surely not. Who would dare to put such a dangerous plant inside a school full of curious students? He'd have to ask Ron or Ginny the next time they wrote.

Setting the tattered book down, Harry picked up the photograph album he kept of his mother and began to flip through it, stopping on the picture of his parents' wedding day. He ran his fingers along the photograph lightly, making a note to ask Remus and Sirius if they had any more pictures of James.

"... _a cauldron full of hot, strong love…_ "

Harry suppressed a laugh as Hermione wrinkled her nose in annoyance, distracted from her Potions reading by the love ballad coming from the wizarding wireless near the kitchen sink. "Awful song," she muttered, as Mrs. Weasley joined in, humming the tune softly.

_"Oh, come and stir my cauldron…"_

Harry sniggered. "I'll stir your cauldron, all right," he muttered. "I'll stir it with a nice, long, hard rod…"

Hermione looked appalled. "Harry!"

"What?"

Hermione glared at him and went back to her reading. Harry quietly sniggered and glanced around the room, his eyes falling upon a thin sheet of parchment tucked into the back cover of _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_. Curiously, he pulled it out, his brow furrowing as he found notes scribbled in all directions on the page. He could make out four distinct sets of handwriting, and he leaned in closer, reading.

 _Prongs, you're a complete idiot_.

_**You're the idiot, Pads. It was your idea to leave a "trademark flourish" at the portrait hole.** _

_I put three Concealment Charms on it!_

_**And you know how brilliant Lilyyyyy** _

What on Earth are you two arguing about? Stop it! McGonagall's starting to suspect something. Lily already does.

_Way to be subtle, Moony. Sometimes I think you should have been sorted into Slytherin._

Harry's eyes widened. Hadn't Sirius called Remus "Moony" just yesterday? These must be Remus' notes! But who was Pads – wait. That had to be Sirius; Remus had called him "Padfoot" during the Defense lesson. But then…Harry felt heart excitement growing within him – Prongs must be Harry's father! Of course! Why else would he mention Lily? But who was Evans? And why was James called Prongs?

Shut up, Padfoot, I'm trying to concentrate.

_No need. Prongs will teach us everything later._

He'll be too busy trying to impress Lily with his hair. Now stop giving me this note.

_Moony…_

_Moooonnny…._

_MOONY_ _…_

STOP IT, SIRIUS.

_**Don't be such a wet blanket, Moony.** _

Just because you're a Transfiguration genius, it doesn't mean the rest of us are. We only have a month to study for O.W.L.s. Now leave me alone, the both of you.

At this point the handwriting changed. A shaky scrawl ran across the side of the page.

**What's the principle behind the Switching Spell? McGonagall's about to ask me, and I just can't remember!**

_**Calm down, Wormtail. The principle is element-by-element Transfiguration. First year, remember?** _

**Thanks, Prongs!**

Harry felt his hands tighten around the parchment. Wormtail, Peter Pettigrew, who had betrayed Harry's parents to Voldemort…a thrill of dark satisfaction ran through him at the next comment.

_How Wormtail has managed to survive in Transfiguration so far is beyond my comprehension._ _How he's managed to become an Animagus is_

_**For Merlin's sake, Pads, some** _ _**discretion** _ _**, please.** _

_Oi, Moony!_

Get away from me before McGonagall decides to come over and revoke my prefect privel oh bugger – Merlin. That was close.

_**We need a Concealment Charm on this thing. Do you think Lily would be willing to provide some extra tutelage?** _

**But you already know the Concealment Charm. You taught it to me.**

You're missing the point, Wormtail. Clearly Prongs wants a little more than extra tutelage.

_He wants some extra boob-ilage, is more the case._

_**Don't impinge upon my honor like that, Pads. It doth hurt.** _

You? Honor?

_**I'll have you know, Moony, that we of the Honorable House of Potter think nothing but the purest thoughts about fiery, beautiful, brilliant, busty red-headed lasses –** _

_Moony! Stop him! STOP HIM! I'm beginning to feel ill._

Prongs, Padfoot is beginning to feel ill.

_You're no help at all._

Oh, do stop pouting, both of you.

All right, be that way.

_Moony, I_

And at this point the notes ended. Harry found himself smiling as he drank in the sight of his father's loopy handwriting, Sirius' prettier and more effeminate flourish, and Remus' neat print, choosing to ignore Wormtail's ugly, messy scrawl. He felt a deep ache inside of him as he skimmed over the notes once more, pausing at James' description of Lily, noting absently that James had already liked Lily during their fifth year…had she liked him back at that time? How had they fallen in love? Harry glanced over at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen, the ache increasing tenfold as Mr. Weasley looped an arm around Mrs. Weasley's waist and pulled her to his side, her head resting against his shoulder as they swayed to the slow tune on the wireless. Could that have been his parents, in a different life, a different time and place?

"Is something on your mind, Harry?" asked Hermione softly, her voice carrying across the crackling flames in the fireplace. She, too, was looking at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley with an expression of deep longing.

"I'm just thinking," he answered, shaking his head slightly.

"I miss my parents," she said quietly, biting her lip, and she looked down, her eyes glimmering strangely.

Harry swallowed. "So do I," he whispered.

Outside, the full moon rose under a cloudless sky, and a wolf and a dog huddled inside a dusty wooden shack, howling with an aching grief for their lost companion, the stag.


	14. Doubles

Hermione woke with a startled gasp as a loud crash sounded throughout the house. Frowning blearily, she sat up and swung herself out of bed, shivering slightly as her bare feet hit the cold wooden floor. She softly padded over to the door and opened it, peering out into the small, dark landing. Soft, murmured conversation was coming from the kitchen, and Hermione moved toward it, stopping hesitantly at the kitchen door.

"I'm fine, Arthur," Mrs. Weasley was saying shakily, placing the kettle back on the counter. Hermione bit her lip as her heart leapt in concern. "I'll be fine. It's just that – today –"

"I know," said Mr. Weasley, his voice soothing. "I know." He drew his wife toward him, his face pale and drawn.

"I'm frightened, Arthur," Mrs. Weasley said, her fingers clenched around Mr. Weasley's robes. "When I see Fred and George, I can't help but think of my own brothers. They also begged to fight in the last war, and the Death Eaters – they –" Her voice cracked.

"The twins are still at Hogwarts," Mr. Weasley countered firmly. "They're safe there. Dumbledore will look after them."

"I thought it was over," said Mrs. Weasley, and her voice became shrill. "It should be over! We shouldn't be sending our own children off to fight – we can't!"

"We'll worry about that when the time comes," said Mr. Weasley, his expression troubled.

"Arthur, promise me you won't let them join the Order," Mrs. Weasley pleaded. "They're too young – they're just children... _our_ children…"

"Fred and George are of age," Mr. Weasley answered. "They're old enough to make their own decisions. I can't stop them from joining, Molly. You know they would never be happy sitting on the sidelines." He paused, standing. "Come on, Mollywobbles, let's get to bed."

Hermione crept away from the door, feeling slightly guilty at her intrusion as she replayed the conversation in her mind. Mrs. Weasley's concern for her children caused unbidden unhappy tears to well up in Hermione's eyes. She shook her head, blaming the late hour for the sudden aching homesickness that overcame her. She swallowed past the lump in her throat as she re-entered Ginny's room, her fingers trailing across the myriad letters she'd received from her friends and parents since she'd arrived at the Burrow.

"I'm happy here," she whispered quietly, and she was. Learning about magic challenged her in a way that Muggle schools never quite seemed to achieve. Magic was about more than applying equations and concepts and logic; it was about feeling the power run through your blood, about really wanting something to happen. That kind of curriculum was new to Hermione, who had always tried to rely on detached, ordered reasoning to deal with situations in her life (until they became too emotionally charged and she burst into tears – or performed accidental magic). But she couldn't solely rely on reasoning to do magic, and she found, to her surprise, that she liked that.

However, none of this detracted her from longing for her mother's embrace and her father's gentle affection whenever she went to bed at night or for their proud smiles whenever she mastered something truly difficult. Nor did it stop her from longing for the easy companionship of her old friends – though according to Cecilia's letters, relations between the Witsford group were now extremely strained. Hermione sighed. Daniel and Richard apparently refused to talk to Matthew and Cecilia, though neither Cecilia nor Matthew had the slightest idea why.

Hermione picked up the photograph of the five of them together, standing in the elegant entrance hall of Witsford and grinning as if they had not a care in the world. The photograph had been taken after they'd finished their exams in fourth year. "What happened?" she asked the unmoving figures in the frame, frozen in a moment of happiness that could never be regained. The moonlight streaming in through the window made them look ghostly, and Hermione shivered with a sudden chill. She placed the photograph back onto the desk, wrapping her arms around herself, and climbed into bed, trying to warm herself.

It was a long time before she fell asleep, thoughts of her old life chasing themselves round and round in her head.

* * *

"Harry?"

Harry mumbled and rolled over, trying to burrow himself into the covers.

"Harry, wake up." An icy wind hit him as the covers were pulled off. He scowled and opened his eyes. He spotted a mass of bushy brown hair, and as he squinted, he was able to make out Hermione standing near the bed, her arms crossed and her foot tapping impatiently.

"Hermione?" he said groggily, sitting up.

Hermione gave him a wan smile. "Come on, get up. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are leaving soon."

"Leaving?" Harry blinked, rubbing his eyes. "To go where?"

Hermione bit her lip. "They're going to visit the graves of Mrs. Weasley's brothers."

"Oh."

"They want to see us downstairs before they leave, so come down quickly."

Harry sighed and stood up, waiting until Hermione left before dressing quickly and putting on his glasses. Checking his reflection in the mirror, he frowned as he noticed that his scar looked slightly redder than normal, although it did not hurt at all. Smoothing his fringe down over his forehead, he rubbed his hands together in an effort to get rid of the cold and descended the stairs to the kitchen. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were standing in front of the fireplace, dressed in thick layers topped by black overcoats that were frayed along the edges. Hermione sat at the table, sipping tea.

"Oh, Harry dear," said Mrs. Weasley, giving him a tight smile. Like Hermione, her face was pale, and shadows stood out sharply under her eyes. "Arthur and I are going to visit my brothers' graves. You and Hermione need to stay here and watch for Remus and Sirius' return."

"When are they coming back?" asked Harry.

"They're due to be back by noon," Mr. Weasley answered, "but it may take them a little longer. We don't know how long it takes for them to recover from the night."

 _Recover from the night…_ Harry wondered uneasily just what kind of injuries Remus and Sirius would sustain because of the full moon. They'd made it sound like they'd be perfectly all right, what with Remus' potion and Sirius' Animagus form.

"We'll be back soon," said Mrs. Weasley, stepping into the Floo. She threw a handful of Floo powder in, shouted a location that Harry couldn't make out, and disappeared in a flash of bright green.

"Be careful," Mr. Weasley said to Harry and Hermione, and he followed suit.

An uneasy silence descended upon them as soon as the Floo finished its roar. Harry sat down at the table and half-heartedly picked at his eggs, feeling unaccountably restless, while Hermione continued to sip her tea, her glance occasionally straying toward the window.

"I'm going to go flying," Harry announced abruptly, pushing back his plate.

Hermione frowned. "I think we should stay inside," she said. "What if you get hurt? Nobody would be here to heal you." She looked toward the living room, her eyes lighting up. "I know! We can revise some of the texts while we wait so we'll be prepared for Remus' quiz."

Harry felt irritation flare within him. Was that all Hermione thought about? Studying? And who did she think she was, trying to keep him inside? She wasn't his mother. "Nothing's going to happen to me," he insisted. "You can watch me from underneath the tree if you're so worried."

"Isn't it a bit cold to go flying?" Hermione pointed out, raising her eyebrows.

Harry scowled and nodded, his irritation mounting. Hermione did have a point; even the kitchen felt particularly cold this morning, despite the hot tea they were drinking. It wouldn't be pleasant, having the air cutting through his lungs as he flew about at high speeds, but he wanted – no, needed – to get out of the house, away from the slow, tense ticking of the clock as they waited for Sirius and Remus to return. "I just – want to go outside," he said lamely, knowing that didn't even begin to express what he was feeling.

"We could practice Disarming each other out on the paddock," Hermione suggested, looking at him appraisingly. "I'm still not so good at it."

"All right," Harry agreed, shrugging, still not feeling entirely satisfied. He pulled his coat more tightly around himself as they stepped out into the cold world outside. The sky was overcast, imbuing everything with a dull grey color that inexplicably heightened his irritation. He took out his wand, crossing to the one end of the paddock while Hermione remained standing on the opposite side. "You or me first?" he yelled across the distance.

"I'll try to Disarm you first," she called back, and she raised her arm and cried, " _Expelliarmus!_ "

After a few more rounds of practice, both Harry and Hermione were easily Disarming one another, and Harry was getting restless once again. He was itching to try some more advanced spells like hexes and curses. Fred and George had taught them the incantations, but had never allowed Harry and Hermione to try the spells on anybody, instead demonstrating by casting the curses upon the other twin. Harry curled his fingers around his wand, fingering the long, smooth surface, remembering the rush of power he'd felt when he had first managed to Disarm Sirius yesterday. The thrill was lessening with each successive round of practicing the spell, and Harry found himself craving the same initial high.

A faint cracking sound startled him out of his thoughts, and his spirits rose as he caught sight of two familiar men appearing in the garden. He pocketed his wand and rushed over to them, Hermione following closely behind. Sirius was supporting Remus as they made their way to the door of the kitchen. Both men were pale, but looked relatively unharmed; neither was bleeding or visibly bruised, and the only sign of injury Harry could see was the slight limp Remus sported in his right leg.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked at once. "Do you need any help?"

Sirius grimaced as if he'd just eaten something extremely sour. "No," he replied. "I just hate Apparating, that's all." Remus' eyes were closed; Sirius guided him across the threshold and sat him down carefully in a chair. "All right, Remus?" he asked quietly, gently squeezing the man's shoulder.

"Yes," said Remus, nodding, and he opened his eyes wearily, gazing around at the kitchen. His gaze seemed to sharpen as soon as he spotted Harry and Hermione, and for a moment, Harry thought he saw the beginnings of a sneer upon Remus' face. It was gone in an instant, however, and Harry shook his head, passing it off as his imagination.

"Ogden's?" asked Sirius, pulling out two glasses.

"If you please," Remus answered hoarsely.

"What's Ogden's?" asked Harry, exchanging a bewildered glance with Hermione.

"Firewhisky," answered Sirius, lifting his wand and intoning " _Accio_ Firewhisky." A thick bottle filled with amber liquid flew out from the slightly open door of the pantry and landed with a neat thunk on the counter. Sirius poured a small serving of the liquid into the two glasses and brought them to the kitchen table, sitting down across from Remus. He raised his glass to Remus, said "Cheers," and then downed the entirety of the liquid in one shot, letting out a satisfied sigh. Remus did the same.

"Is it good?" asked Harry curiously.

"It's only the best," Sirius answered. "Firewhisky warms you right up. We need it, given where we were last night."

"Is it alcoholic?" asked Hermione tentatively.

Sirius smirked. "Indeed it is. Would you like to try some?"

Hermione frowned and shook her head. "No, thank you," she answered, retrieving a butterbeer from the pantry. "Harry, do you want a butterbeer?"

Harry considered the bottle of Firewhisky thoughtfully. He'd never really had alcohol before, excluding the punch he'd drunk at Sara Cheung's Christmas party, and he was rather curious about what whiskey tasted like. Sirius seemed to sense his thoughts, for he summoned another glass and poured Harry some Firewhiskey, sliding it across the table to the boy. Sirius raised his eyebrows, a slight smile playing around his lips. "Well, go on then," he said, "drink it."

Hermione's glare bored holes into the back of Harry's head as he wrapped his fingers around the glass, brought it to his lips, and downed the innocuous amber liquid.

He immediately began spluttering as a burning sensation went down his throat and spread throughout his stomach, his cheeks flushing immediately and his fingers beginning to tingle with a flaming heat. "That's – strong," he gasped. The world suddenly seemed like it was moving a bit too quickly, and he thanked his lucky stars that he was still sitting down.

"You'll get used to it," said Sirius casually, and Harry worried slightly about Sirius' skill as a godfather. He was distracted by the fierce glare still on Hermione's face, and he held up his hands in surrender.

"Hermione…" Harry began, but she turned on her heel abruptly, still glaring, and left the kitchen, presumably to go back to Ginny's room.

"Her knickers are in a right twist," said Sirius, raising his eyebrows and staring at the door for a moment. "Don't you worry, Harry, we'll take care of you." He exchanged a small smirk with Remus, who, though still pale, now had a bit of healthy flush to his cheeks.

"Have another, Harry," Remus said, his brown eyes gleaming with something like mischief.

Harry wondered aloud if Remus should be resting.

Remus smiled. "All I need right now is something to warm me up. Go on, drink it," he said, nodding toward the glass.

Harry curled his fingers around the glass hesitantly. The world was still spinning. "I don't think –"

"I propose a toast," Sirius interrupted, as he poured himself another glass and raised it.

"A toast to what, Sirius?" Remus asked, raising his eyebrows.

"A toast to – er – family," Sirius answered. "To Remus and Harry – my family."

Harry felt his cheeks flush even more at Sirius' pronouncement, and he knocked back the shot of Firewhisky with a bit more ease. He held his hands to his cheeks, trying to cool himself down as the burning sensation spread throughout his body and overcame his senses. "S'hot," he mumbled, his eyes closing involuntarily. He felt like he had a fever. He wanted to go to sleep – sleep off the heat and flame, and wake up cool and refreshed and sober – he wanted to sleep.

"It's called Firewhisky for a reason," Sirius replied flippantly, and then his tone morphed into one of concern. "Harry, are you all right?"

Harry took a deep breath, his eyes still closed. He was beginning to feel nauseous. "I'm fine," he said hoarsely. His stomach felt queasy, and he clutched it, grimacing.

"Merlin, I think he might vomit," Sirius muttered.

Harry frowned and shook his head, making himself even more dizzy than before. "Won't," he insisted. This was too embarrassing. He was drunk in front of his godfather and teacher. What would they think of him now?

"Better out than in," Remus said, sounding gently amused.

"No, I won't," Harry insisted, cracking his eyes open. "I just need to go to sl-bed."

"Sl-bed," Remus repeated. "Well, Sirius, you heard the boy. He needs to go to sl-bed."

"Sleep, _bed,_ " Harry enunciated forcefully, waving a hand irritably.

"I heard you," Sirius said, grasping Harry's arms and pulling him up from the chair. "Come, let's take him to bed."

Harry let his eyes fall closed, and he stumbled along, leaning on Sirius for support. He felt the blast of an icy wind as he was pulled outside to the back garden, and he shivered violently despite the heat running through his body. "Sirius – what –?" he asked.

"It'll do you some good to be outside," Sirius explained. "Helps cool you down a bit before you go to sleep."

"'Kay," said Harry, though he didn't agree. It was too cold out here. He was freezing. He wanted to go back inside and lie down on his bed.

"If you need to fall asleep, then fall asleep," Sirius said, his voice oddly soothing. Something about it didn't seem quite right, but Harry couldn't think what it was. "I've got you."

"So – emb'rssing," Harry muttered, even as comforting, warm darkness began to beckon him. "Can't hold – drunk…"

"You never could hold your liquor," Sirius said, sounding amused, and Harry had only a moment to wonder about the strangeness of that statement before a terrible squeezing pressure surrounded him, and he choked for air and passed out.

* * *

Hermione sat alone in Ginny's room, finishing off a letter to her parents. She pulled out a few pieces of parchment in order to begin revising the magical textbooks that she and Harry had read yesterday, but realized with an angry sigh that most of the textbooks were still in the living room. She wondered if Sirius, Remus, and Harry were still drinking Firewhisky. It made her very uncomfortable seeing them like that. She couldn't believe that they were so irresponsible! Remus was their teacher, for goodness' sake. Remus was nice and responsible, and he didn't ignore her like Sirius sometimes did. She couldn't believe he would condone serving them strong alcohol. And Sirius – well, as unstable as he might be, he had seemed to be trying to be a decent father-figure for Harry…

Squaring her shoulders, she decided that she'd simply have to go and face them. To her surprise, however, only Harry was sitting at the kitchen table, with Sirius, Remus, and the bottle of Firewhisky nowhere in sight.

"Hello, Hermione," he said amiably, looking up from the photo album he always carried around with him. He'd never really told her what was in it.

"Are you still drunk?" she asked waspishly, although his face was no longer bright red.

Harry looked puzzled. "Drunk?" he repeated.

Hermione sent him a disapproving and slightly incredulous look.

"Oh." Realization dawned on his face. "No. No, I'm not."

"Where are Remus and Sirius?" she asked, looking around suspiciously.

"They went to Hogwarts to go talk to Dumbledore about something," Harry answered, turning his attention back to the photo album. "Top-secret. They wouldn't tell me more, and they said not to ask about it."

"Something for the Order?" asked Hermione, intrigued.

Harry shrugged. "Dunno." He raised his eyebrows as his fingers traced one of the photos. "Look, about the Firewhisky –" He gazed at her with an earnest expression that she'd never seen on his face before. "Let's just forget about that incident, all right? Sirius and Remus were ashamed of being so irresponsible and for getting me drunk. They used the _Sobrietus_ charm on me, and everything's been settled. They don't want me or you to mention the Firewhisky, especially not to Mrs. Weasley." He looked down at the table, abashed. "I don't think she'd approve."

Hermione chewed her lip. She hadn't been planning on telling Mrs. Weasley about what had happened, but she had wanted to confront Remus and Sirius about their behavior. If they already felt guilty about being irresponsible, though, then it'd save her loads of trouble. "All right," she said, sighing. "Just promise me that you won't do it again."

Harry gave her a small smile in return. "Promise. Being drunk isn't at all fun." He stood and walked toward the living room, his photo album clutched under one arm. "You wanted to revise some of the texts, right?"

"Yes," said Hermione, pleased that Harry was sharing her interest in learning, unlike this morning. "Do you want to revise the Potions text?"

"Sounds good," said Harry, flashing a brilliant grin in her direction that threw her off-guard. "Potions is pretty fascinating. I think it might be my favorite subject – my second favorite magical subject. Besides Defense, I mean," he added hurriedly. He bit his lip and frowned for an instant, but then his face was once again pleasant and friendly. "Shall we?"

Hermione shot Harry a perplexed glance. The expression on his face was strangely blank, and he didn't quite seem to be acting like himself. She was used to a Harry who wore his heart on his sleeve and whose emotions played out easily across his face. Besides, he'd been rather tetchy this morning. There was something – off – in his manner now. He seemed a bit too accommodating and eager to please.

She tried to push aside her concern as Harry opened the Potions text and began to quiz her on the first chapter. "What's the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"There is none," she answered promptly.

"Okay…what can cure you from most poisons?"

"A bezoar, usually found in the stomach of a goat," she answered, and then she laughed. "It's funny – you know, a hairball is also known as a trichobezoar in medicine…"

"A hairball? Like in cats?"

"Yeah. Medicine – or, I suppose, Muggle medicine – defines a bezoar as a mass found in the gastrointestinal tract, and it's generally a _bad_ thing to have a bezoar because they're difficult to remove and they block up your intestinal system. It's the total opposite of the magical version."

"How do you know all this?" asked Harry, raising his eyebrows in a familiar manner. Hermione felt her heart relax a little, and then she blushed as she answered Harry's question.

"When I was a little girl, I really wanted a cat, but my parents wouldn't let me have one." She smiled wistfully. "I thought that if I looked up all of this information, I'd be able to prove that I was mature enough to take care of my own cat, and that they'd get me one for Christmas or for my birthday. They never did, though." She chewed her lip, feeling the previous night's ache of homesickness returning, and she shook her head slightly. "Anyway, of course I looked up what a hairball was and discovered that it was called a 'trichobezoar,' which led me to look up what a 'bezoar' was…"

Harry and Hermione spent the rest of the day quietly revising the textbooks in preparation for their next lesson. Sirius and Remus returned from Hogwarts at noon, and Remus immediately went to sleep while Sirius prepared a hot soup for Harry, Hermione, and himself. Sirius' eyes were more shadowed and his gait more tired than Hermione remembered from the morning, but she figured that it had something to do with whatever they had discussed with Dumbledore at Hogwarts. After lunch, Sirius took some soup up to Remus, and both of them proceeded to sleep through the entire afternoon.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley returned shortly before nightfall, tired and somber. Dinner was eaten in a heavy silence only occasionally broken by a polite request to pass the potatoes or the stew. Hermione ate quickly, thankful to escape the solemn atmosphere, and went to Ginny's room. She sat on the bed and yawned, overcome with a wave of exhaustion, and rubbed her eyes. Her gaze was eyes caught by the glittering model of the solar system that her friend Daniel had given her for Christmas. She pulled it towards her on the desk, bending down to observe the sparkling planets and the brightly glowing sun. For a while, she simply stared at it, lost in memories of an older, more familiar life.

An hour later, she was asleep, a contented smile on her face, utterly unaware of the world around her.

* * *

Harry woke with a gasp, his scar shooting a searing pain through his forehead. He reached up a hand to try to rub it, but found that his arms were tied behind his back. His heart pounding, he pulled himself up into a sitting position, noting that his ankles were also tied. His head was also aching terribly in addition to the pain from his scar. Frantically, he looked around at the darkness surrounding him, unable to make out anything other than black. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was…he couldn't remember. There had been something hot, burning his insides, but it felt good – a drink. Firewhisky. Sirius and Remus had served him Firewhisky. And then the world had started spinning…and there was cold…they said they'd take him to bed, but they'd gone outside…and –

A loud, grating noise made Harry start, and he squinted as a beam of light entered his vision, realizing that his glasses were gone. A tall figure stood in the doorway, walking toward him. Harry could make out long robes and a flash of silver, illuminated by the man's wand, and his terror mounted as he realized that the man was a Death Eater. He scooted backward as quickly as he could only to hit a hard stone wall. "Who are you?" he called, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. "What do you want? Where are Remus and Sirius?" He felt his heart catch in his throat as two polished boots came closer and closer. "Get away from me!"

"My, my, the company of the blood-traitors has certainly made you brash," the Death Eater drawled, flicking his wand at Harry, and a piece of cloth smacked Harry's mouth hard and wrapped around his head. "I've no wish to hear your pathetic demands," he sneered, bending down and wrenching Harry to a standing position. "Come, boy." He pulled Harry out the door into an openly lit hallway, placing his wand at the nape of Harry's neck and pushing him forward. Harry tripped because of the bonds on his ankles, and the man clucked his tongue. "So clumsy," he said in a disappointed tone, grabbing Harry by the arm. Harry struggled weakly as the Death Eater dragged him through a dark, stone hallway, wincing as his bound legs scraped against a few jagged rocks lying on the ground. He tried to look around once more, but the only light was coming from the man's wand, and Harry could see nothing beyond the small point of illumination.

They reached some kind of door. It creaked open slowly with a flick of the Death Eater's wand, and Harry was assaulted by a cold, icy wind, letting out a muffled cry as his legs scraped roughly across the threshold of the door and hit a dirt path. He shivered violently as the Death Eater dropped him roughly on the ground, trying to look around with his watering eyes. The dark landscape was dotted with headstones, and Harry was lying next to a particularly large one. Harry couldn't make out the words on it, and he didn't have time to look closer as two bulky Death Eaters stepped forward and pulled him upright, slamming his back against the tombstone and tying him to it with more ropes. Harry cried out and struggled, but one of the men backhanded him roughly, and he stopped, dazed. His hands clenched uselessly behind his back as the men blindfolded him and stepped away.

He heard something large and heavy being dragged across the ground, hitting some uneven bumps along the way, and then his scar was burning like never before…tears streamed down his face as his forehead threatened to split open and the ache at the back of his head intensified. There was a roaring in his ears, and he was beginning to feel nauseous. Someone was chanting something, and in the distance, he heard a loud hissing like a snake, and then a horrific plop, as if someone had dropped something into water…his face was both hot and cold all at once…and then a sharp, slashing pain ran down his arm, and he felt warm blood dripping down into his jumper sleeve.

Harry couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't feel…he could only stand there as white-hot agony ran through his scar through the rest of his body, and his screams were swallowed by the gag. Someone was speaking – someone with a high, cold voice that Harry had only heard in his nightmares –

_No…_

Harry struggled fruitlessly against the ropes, dizzy with pain, as a scaly, dry finger brushed his cheek, the roaring in his ears intensifying tenfold. He cried out as a high, cold laugh rang throughout the night, and his blindfold was pulled off roughly. Terrified, he looked up at the white, serpentine face above him, the scarlet eyes and hairless lips, curved upward in a soft, cruel smile…no…it couldn't be…

"Welcome, Harry," whispered Lord Voldemort, and all around him, Death Eaters laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had the last scene in the works since this story first started in 2002. I'm glad to finally be able to get it out. :-) (Nov 19, 2009)


	15. Demons

Voldemort's face held an unnatural glee as he circled around Harry, his robes swishing softly around him. The Death Eaters stood stock-still and silent, forming an immovable black and silver wall around their master and his captive. "Harry Potter," Voldemort breathed, drawing out his wand and stroking it lightly. "I must say, it is an _honor_ to meet you."

The Death Eaters sniggered quietly.

Harry's body felt as if it had been encased in icy fear. Numb with horror, barely breathing, he tracked Voldemort's movements with his unfocused eyes; the other wizard was a pale smear in the dark landscape.

"Rumor has it, Harry," Voldemort continued, drawing out Harry's name like a caress, "that you lived as a Muggle until very recently. That you knew nothing of the magic you so rightfully possessed, that your power had been denied to you by your filthy Muggle relatives until the great, all-knowing _Albus Dumbledore_ decided to grace you with his presence four years too late." He spat out Dumbledore's name like a curse. "Harry, dear, dear Harry," said Voldemort, shaking his head in an imitation of sadness, "were you not – angry?"

" _I am hungry, Master…"_

The hissing voice near the ground drew Harry's attention downward. His heart lodged in his throat, his horror increasing tenfold, as he squinted at the gigantic snake circling his feet, her scales undulating with poisonous brightness in the dim, flickering light.

" _Soon, my precious Nagini…_ " Voldemort hissed, and the snake slithered away toward the Death Eaters as Voldemort drew closer to Harry, stroking Harry's face with his unnaturally long fingers. Harry let out a muffled cry of pain as a searing pain shot through his head, his forehead threatening to split into two.

"Tell me, Harry," said Voldemort softly, grasping Harry's chin and thrusting it forward forcefully so that Harry was forced to look into the scarlet, slit-like eyes, "do you not seek revenge against those who wronged you? Your relatives, who gave you the barest of shelters and meals; your filthy Muggle classmates, who bullied and teased you endlessly; even Dumbledore, who chose not to contact you until he thought the wizarding world needed its savior?"

Harry made a strangled noise of protest, and he tried to free his head from Voldemort's brutal grasp. The accusations rang loudly throughout his head, echoing some of the thoughts he'd had in the darkest of nights, when he could no longer suppress the bitter resentment he felt toward his relatives, who belittled and bullied him unreasonably, toward his classmates, whose callous indifference had killed his self-confidence, toward Dumbledore, who had not bothered to search for him sooner, even toward Ron and Ginny and the twins, who were raised in the magical world to which Harry belonged.

"Do not deny it, Harry," Voldemort said quietly, dropping Harry's chin and raising his wand. "I can see it all in your head. You want them to pay, don't you?" Unbidden, Harry's mind flashed to Piers Polkiss sneering on the steps of Stonewall High, helplessness overwhelming him as Polkiss moved closer and closer to an unwilling Hermione –and then the image in Harry's mind shifted. Polkiss was sniveling and cowering at Harry's feet, just as Harry had done at Polkiss' in primary school….Harry couldn't help but feel a jolt of vindictive pleasure at the sight.

"I could teach you, Harry," Voldemort offered softly, gently stroking the side of Harry's face with his wand and raising Harry's chin with the tip. "You could learn so much more than what Dumbledore and his friends have chosen to teach you. You deserve to know so much more already. Aren't you resentful that Dumbledore did not seek you out to go to Hogwarts when you turned eleven? That he waited until he needed you to develop your powers? That he didn't _believe_ in your abilities until he had proof?" Voldemort smiled, shaking his head slightly in a disappointed manner. "What a fool the old man was," he whispered. "I believe in you, Harry. I see how much potential you have. You could be great, you know, at my side…" Voldemort's voice trailed off delicately, the offer hanging unspoken in the air.

Harry's heart thudded frantically against his chest. _Voldemort killed my parents_ , he reminded himself. _He killed my parents, and Dumbledore said that Voldemort wants to kill me too…_.He could hear the tense, quiet breathing of the Death Eaters around him, and despite the freezing temperature, the air felt hot and stifling, filled with heavy anticipation.

Voldemort waved his wand so that Harry's gag disappeared. "Well, Harry?"

"I…" Harry's voice was weak, and he tried to clear his throat, taking in a great gasp of icy air. He blinked back tears of pain from his throbbing scar, his head and heart pounding in tandem, and he curled his fingers into his palms behind his back. He looked upward toward the clouded sky, away from Voldemort's red eyes and the black wall of Death Eaters and the snake slithering around the graves on the ground, and remembered the promise he'd made to himself long ago, back when he was still living at the Dursleys: that once he finished his schooling, once he left Privet Drive forever, he would never again be anybody's slave…never again allow someone to order him around and dictate his life…

"Harry?" said Voldemort softly, dangerously. "Have you no answer?"

"I do have one," said Harry quietly, and he was surprised to find that his voice did not tremble. He continued, more firmly, "I do have an answer."

"And what might that answer be?" Voldemort's voice was mocking. "Do you, or do you not, accept my offer? Will you join me, Harry Potter? Will you be my loyal servant?"

Harry took a deep breath. "No."

The graveyard went completely silent.

Voldemort seemed frozen in shock. The Death Eaters seemed to have lost all breath, and their eyes glittered from behind their masks, little pinpricks of light in the darkness. "No?" Voldemort whispered, and his scarlet, slitted eyes were narrowed in fury. "You dare say no to me, Harry Potter? Are you certain, Harry? For I must warn you that I do not forgive easily…when you are begging me to give you a second chance, I will not give it, Harry…think carefully…"

"I'm not joining you," Harry repeated, and though his body was shaking now with fear, his voice did not. "I won't."

"Very well," said Voldemort softly. "You are much like your father, Harry…he refused me as well…" He raised his wand and pointed it directly at Harry. "You have made your choice, Harry, but you will be disappointed…. _Crucio!_ "

Harry's voice tore through his throat. Lava was flowing through his veins, burning him from the inside out; flashes of white light danced in and out of his vision, his forehead repeatedly split open by a searing pain, and he was screaming, convulsing, the ropes binding him to the headstone still cutting into his skin...

"Still no, Harry?" Voldemort taunted. He waved his wand, and the ropes binding Harry to the headstone disappeared. Harry fell hard on his knees, his ankles and wrists now freed, and came face-to-face with Voldemort's snake – Nagini. She reared her head and opened her mouth…Harry could see her glistening fangs – " _No! Don't!"_ he cried, terrified, the same time as Voldemort ordered, " _Wait, Nagini…soon…"_

Nagini's head weaved drunkenly for a moment between Harry and Voldemort. She hissed menacingly at Harry, her rough tongue flickering in the air, and then she slinked away.

Harry let out a sigh of relief, which soon turned into an agonized scream as Voldemort hit him again with the Cruciatus Curse. When he came to, he was lying on the ground, trembling, his face pressed against the ground as the Death Eaters laughed and Voldemort callously nudged his ribs with a booted toe.

"My loyal Death Eaters, I present to you, the Boy Who Lived," Voldemort said in a mocking tone. "Come now, Harry," he jeered, "won't you stand and introduce yourself? Or are you too weak?" He turned to face the Death Eaters. "To think," he spat, "that I, Lord Voldemort, could be defeated by a mere boy…but now, my faithful servants, I will correct that notion once and for all…from this night onward, you will remember Harry Potter not as the Boy Who Lived, but as the boy who died, pleading for mercy from Lord Voldemort like his filthy Mudblood mother….Well then, Harry," he said softly, turning his attention to the boy lying at his feet, "are you ready to die?"

Harry hated the gentleness of that tone, as if Voldemort were speaking not to a human but a dying pet. His eyes spitting fire, he shakily raised himself to a standing position and drew himself up to his full height, stiff and tense as he watched Voldemort raise his wand. Harry desperately felt around in the back pocket of his jeans for his wand or the two-way mirror Dumbledore had given him, only to come up with nothing but empty air. He was completely defenseless…but he was not going to die kneeling or cowering before this madman…he was going to die standing proud and tall, like a hero, a soldier, a martyr…

"Have at it, then," said Harry, his green eyes flashing with hate and anger and courage.

"As you wish," said Voldemort, sounding amused, and he aimed his long wand directly at Harry's chest, a bright green glow already emanating from the tip. " _Ava—_ "

"My Lord."

Voldemort snarled and whirled around as a Death Eater stepped forward from the circle, his head bowed, and prostrated himself before Voldemort unblinkingly.

"My Lord, if I may be so bold…"

"Severus," Voldemort said dangerously, "what is the meaning of this?"

Harry's heart leapt with confusion and fear and the tiniest beginnings of hope. Was Snape going to rescue him?

"My Lord," Snape began, his voice muffled by the ground.

"Rise, Severus," said Voldemort, his voice still simmering with fury, "and speak clearly."

"Thank you, my Lord," said Snape, keeping his head bowed as he slowly lifted his upper body. He continued, "I believe the boy would be of better use to you alive than dead. Alive, he will be a useful bargaining tool, particularly in regard to your recent plans." He stressed the last two words, and Voldemort's eyes narrowed. Snape continued, "If the boy is dead, however, Dumbledore will certainly have reason to cast his attentions upon you and vilify you to both the Ministry and the Order."

"But Dumbledore does not even know the boy is missing," said Voldemort, smiling lazily as twirled his wand between his fingers, looking down at Snape. "What does it matter if the boy is alive or dead? I cannot say I trust your intentions, Severus," he mused. "You spend so much time with that Muggle-loving old fool…how can I be certain that he has not ordered you to save Harry Potter's life?"

"My Lord, I have only ever been faithful to you," Snape declared adamantly. "I have only ever served you…I have merely tricked the old fool into believing otherwise…"

Voldemort stroked his wand as he considered Snape with a narrowed gaze. "What do you suggest I do with the boy, Severus?"

"My Lord, you may recall that under Dumbledore's orders, I have been teaching Potter Occlumency these past few weeks. I am familiar with his mental landscape, and it is not at all difficult to navigate." Snape sneered. The Death Eaters tittered appreciatively. "I feel certain that with a little _persuasion_ , Potter could easily be trained to become your obedient servant. That would be a far greater blow to the old man, for right now he is certain the boy is loyal to him. And for Potter," he sneered, turning his gaze to the frightened boy, "serving you would indeed be a fate worse than death…"

Harry stared at Snape, his thoughts hopelessly muddled. Snape was not rescuing him…he was turning Harry over to Voldemort…he was a traitor to Dumbledore, to the Order…Harry squinted and focused on the empty patch of air behind Snape, the only opening in the human wall of black robes and silver masks, and wondered desperately if he should make a run for it. He had been prepared to die…he hadn't been prepared to be a prisoner…to suffer a slow and torturous existence as his will taken from him…

Voldemort turned to face Harry, looking him up and down. "Your suggestion has merit, Severus," said Voldemort thoughtfully, still examining Harry.

"Thank you, my Lord." Snape dipped his head.

For a moment, nobody spoke. The Death Eaters seemed to have stopped breathing altogether. Then Voldemort smiled, one long, pale hand snaking out to stroke Harry's face. Harry's eyes burned with the contact. "I look forward to your service, Harry…" He dropped his hand and motioned to two bulky Death Eaters, who stepped forward and grasped Harry's arms on either side. "Take the boy back to his cell," he ordered. "I shall deal with him later…"

Harry felt his hands clench into fists as the Death Eaters began to drag him back along a rocky dirt path. Whatever happened, he was not going to go without a fight….He would never give Voldemort the satisfaction of commanding him, of using him to do something against his own will. He would find a way back home, back to the Burrow, back to Hermione… He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to still his racing heart. He recalled the first time he'd truly discovered magic, when Polkiss and his goons had attacked him and Hermione. He'd managed to create a shield simply by wishing hard enough. And later, he'd conjured a shield against the rain without using a wand….There had been a kind of power within him, a warmth that ran through his body and made his right arm tingle – a magic that had kept him dry from the rain – had protected him – if only he could call that up again and escape from these two guards –

_Please, please – please –_

But no answering warmth rose up to greet him; his insides felt as if they'd been encased in a numbing, icy fear; the Death Eaters were dragging him across the door and down the long, dark hallway from whence he'd come – they took out their wands and whispered something he could not hear, and the door to his cell opened with a loud creak that sent Harry's heart straight down to his toes. With guttural laughs, they threw him into the room roughly, and Harry barely managed to break his fall as the door slammed shut, leaving him in pitch-black darkness.

* * *

Hermione was walking through the dark, empty halls of the Witsford School in London, calling out her friends' names as she searched through abandoned classrooms with overthrown furniture. "Hello?" she whispered. "Daniel? Matthew? Richard?" She stopped in front of the entrance to the dining hall, shivering as she saw the long rows of wooden tables, devoid of any chattering students. A movement to her right caught her eye, and she sighed in relief as she caught sight of Cecilia's familiar long black hair. "Cecilia," she called. "Cecilia, I'm so happy to see you – where is everyone? I was so happy to visit…why won't you turn around? Ceci?" She reached out a hand toward her old friend, jumping in surprise as Cecilia dissolved into mist right before her eyes.

"Strange," Hermione muttered, frowning, and she turned around. She was in a bright, sunlit field; wildflowers bloomed all around her, and a gentle wind blew back her navy blue sundress. A red ribbon flew past her, and Hermione ran after it unthinkingly, stumbling over something on the ground. Hermione looked down, startled; Lina, her new friend from Stonewall, lay in the middle of the grass, twirling a light brown curl around her finger. Beside her lay Katharine, Hermione's first friend in Surrey, and Sara Cheung, another classmate from Stonewall. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you," Hermione apologized, blinking.

"Come lie down with us," said Sara, smiling. "We're watching the clouds."

"But I –" Hermione looked behind her and saw nothing but withered grass. "My school – my friends –"

"We're your friends," Lina insisted, her brown eyes widening, and she pointed upward. "Oh! Look!"

The sky was red. Hermione shivered, an odd foreboding creeping over her. "We should get inside," she whispered.

"But it's so pretty," Lina protested.

"No…it's dangerous," Hermione replied, and she quickly headed toward the front door of Stonewall, which lay directly ahead of her. She looked back over her shoulder; Katharine, Lina, and Sara were following slowly, brushing grass from their hair.

"Come on," she urged, as the sky grew darker, a blood-red color that Hermione didn't like. "We need to get inside!" she shouted, and she let out a sigh of relief as the other three girls finally crossed the threshold of the door. She quickly shut the door and locked it, and as she whirled around, she came face-to-face with Harry, who was frowning dejectedly, smoothing his fringe over his forehead.

"Harry? What's wrong?" asked Hermione, gently reaching out to pat his shoulder. He looked up, and Hermione stifled a scream; instead of the usual bright green, Harry's eyes were blood-red, the same color as the sky outside. "Harry, your eyes!" she cried in alarm.

"What's wrong with my eyes?" asked Harry. Hermione blinked. Harry was staring at her, and his eyes were now bright green, his brow furrowed in puzzlement. "Hermione? What's wrong?"

"N-nothing," she answered, backing away. She couldn't explain why she felt so unsettled. "I'm going to – to find the girls."

"The girls?" Harry repeated, staring at her. "What girls?"

"Lina, Sara, and Katharine – they just came in," Hermione said in a rush. "Didn't you see them -?"

"We're the only ones here, remember?" said Harry, taking a step toward her. He looked at her warily. "Everyone else is gone…"

"What?" Hermione gasped. "But – they were here –"

"We'll find them," said Harry reassuringly. "We'll write to Ron and Ginny, and the twins, too. They'll know." He took another step closer and grasped her hand, and Hermione's fears dissolved.

"Let's go home," he suggested, and still holding her hand, he led her toward the form room in which they'd first met. As she opened the door, her heart twisted as she saw the familiar layout of her bedroom from the flat in London, where she'd spent over fourteen years of her life. She ran her fingers over the flowered bedspread and sat down on it, picking up the framed photograph she always kept on the bed stand. In the center of the photograph, she beamed proudly, holding up an award she'd received at school as her parents waved in the background. Hermione looked more closely, her heart jolting with surprise as she realized that her parents were not the ones in the photo; instead, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley waved at her excitedly, smiling, as Harry slunk in and out of the frame with a shy smile. "What-?" she whispered, tears filling her eyes, and she looked up at Harry. "Where are my mum and dad?"

Harry stared back at her expressionlessly. His face was blurring at the edges, as if hidden behind a smudged thumbprint on a window pane, and Hermione reached out, trying to hold onto him, but his arm slipped through her fingers like drops of water. He was melting slowly onto the floor, his skin becoming waxy and elongated, like a dripping oil painting…

Hermione woke with a terrified, heaving breath as she shot upward in bed, clutching the blankets close to herself. Remnants of the nightmare played through her head in an endless loop like a repeating video reel, and her body shook involuntarily. Unconsciously, she swung out of bed and placed her feet onto the floor, letting the icy cold seep into her extremities and spread to the rest of the body, slowly calming her pounding heart. With a shiver, she picked up her wand, murmured " _Lumos_ ," and shined the light onto a gilt photograph frame, illuminating her beaming twelve-year-old self and the still – not waving – smiles of her own proud parents.

"Just a silly nightmare," she said to herself quietly, pulling on a dressing gown and setting the frame down. She forcefully quashed the urge to go and check on Harry and see that his face wasn't melting; instead, she chose to look at her watch and check the time. It was two-thirty in the morning. "Wonderful," she sighed.

Unwilling to sleep again, Hermione pulled on a jumper and jeans and padded down to the cold, empty living room, lighting the fireplace with a soft " _Incendio_." (She and Harry hadn't learned that spell yet, but she'd seen Mrs. Weasley doing it earlier). She picked up her Christmas gift, _Numerology and Ancient Mathematics,_ and pulled out the notes she'd written on Arithmancy. Revising maths always soothed her, and she suddenly found herself wishing, oddly enough, for her GCSE maths coursework. Hermione bit her lip. Sometimes she regretted coming to the magical world; she wished she had listened to her parents and taken her GCSE exams before deciding to give up the Muggle way of life…

 _It's not too late to return_ , she contemplated. _If I went back now and said that I was ill, it wouldn't be difficult to catch up on the coursework…and it'd certainly be a more sensible decision…_

Hermione shook her head against the impending storm of thoughts. Every night she debated the merits of returning to the Muggle world or continuing in her magical education, and every night she came to the same conclusion: that she needed to learn magic. She focused her attention once more on the Arithmancy concepts laid out before her. _Personality, numerical traits. 4's – solid, hard workers, practical, reliable, "like Hufflepuffs"; 5's – adventurous, energetic risk takers, "like Sirius (once I get to know him better)"; 6's…7's…_

As dawn broke, Hermione rubbed her eyes tiredly and stood at the window, watching the sun rise over a pale grey sky. _Not red…_ She let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, trying to shake the unsettled feeling off her shoulders as Mrs. Weasley greeted her with a smile and began to make breakfast in the kitchen. Hermione went to join her, opening the window to let an owl fly in and drop a newspaper onto the table. Hermione unrolled it, biting her lip anxiously as she scanned the pages for any significant news.

 _Sleekazy's adds novel new ingredient to Flyaway Hair Potion…Sirius Black spotted in Mongolia…_ Hermione bit back a laugh as she read a supporting claim that Sirius had recently been seen in Tibet, and paged through the rest of the newspaper. _Minister Fudge claims that recent Muggle-baiting cases are isolated incidents…Ministry official and Defense Professor Dolores Umbridge pushes to standardize Hogwarts curriculum…_ yes, Ron, Ginny, and the twins had mentioned something about that in their letters, claiming that the motion was "utter bollocks"…

"Anything new, dear?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

Hermione chewed her lip and shook her head. "No, Mrs. Weasley," she answered. She pushed the newspaper away and stood, heading toward Ginny's room to grab some parchment and quill with which to take notes for the day's lessons. As she entered the hallway, she barely missed colliding with Harry, whose face was screwed up in pain.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, concerned. "Did you have a vision? Or a nightmare?" A shudder came over her as she remembered the image of Harry's blood-red eyes.

Harry clutched his left forearm and shook his head. He met her gaze, his eyes bright and green, and his face cleared into a smile. "I just hit my arm against the door," he told her. "It's all right now." He brushed past her and went to the kitchen, greeting Mrs. Weasley a bit too enthusiastically for the early hour.

Hermione's feeling of trepidation returned as she watched his retreating back. She debated whether or not she should investigate Harry's strange behavior or mention it to Sirius and Remus, and then she shook her head. She didn't want to worry them, and she was probably thinking too much. Teenage girls would never fully understand teenage boys, especially ones as reserved as Harry.

* * *

Harry did not know how long he sat there in the cell, waiting for the door to open once more. He wrapped his arms around his knees, pulling them up to his chest, wincing as his joints shook and protested the movement. His skin still stung from the cuts he'd received from his bindings, and he was aching all over from the Cruciatus Curse. He gingerly touched his right arm, letting out a hiss of pain as his fingers brushed against a long cut down his forearm. Resting his chin on his knees, Harry focused on breathing in and out as his thoughts ran themselves in circle round his head, like a dog chasing its own tail.

What did Voldemort mean when he said Dumbledore wouldn't know Harry was missing? Surely someone would notice if he were gone…Hermione would definitely know…and Remus and Sirius too…but weren't those two the ones who had taken him here in the first place? The last thing he could remember from the Burrow was drinking the Firewhisky and being led into the garden…but how could Remus and Sirius be Death Eaters? He could scarcely believe it…they'd made it quite clear that they worked for Dumbledore and hated Voldemort…they'd never betray Harry…but there was no other explanation….A cold shiver of fear ran through Harry. If Remus and Sirius were indeed Death Eaters, then Hermione was now alone with them…she wasn't safe…how long had he been here? Had Mr. and Mrs. Weasley returned to the Burrow yet? They'd protect her if anything happened…but what if Sirius and Remus turned them over to Voldemort as well…? What if no one knew that they were traitors…?

What was going to happen to him? Voldemort wanted him to become a servant, possibly a Death Eater…Harry could never join his parents' murderer…what had Snape meant by "persuasion"? He had mentioned something about Occlumency…Harry's "mental landscape"…was Voldemort going to use Legilimency somehow? Was he going to twist Harry's thoughts? Harry remembered the shocking pleasure that had run through him as he saw Polkiss cowering at his feet…he squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. He wouldn't let Voldemort make him feel that way…he was not a bully, not a sadist…when he faced Voldemort once more, he'd use the Occlumency techniques Snape had taught him to protect his thoughts…

But Snape was also a Death Eater…did Dumbledore and the Order know about his true loyalties too? What use would Snape's lessons be against Voldemort? For all he knew, Snape could have been preparing his mind to be more receptive to Voldemort's manipulations….after all, the man had saved Harry's life only so that Harry could suffer further under Voldemort's hands…he hadn't tried to take Harry back to Dumbledore, back to safety…

Why had he ever agreed to come to the magical world in the first place? If he'd chosen to stay at Stonewall and live with the Dursleys, this would never have happened…right now he'd be sitting in lessons or in his room, dreaming of university and escape, not frantically hoping for survival…

He must have fallen asleep at one point, because the next time Harry opened his eyes, his head was pillowed roughly on his arms, and he was staring directly at the end of a lit wand. Instinctively, he drew a hand across his face, trying to block out the light as he clumsily pulled himself into a sitting position, his joints numb and aching from being pressed against the stone floor.

"The Dark Lord wishes to see you." Harry recognized the drawling voice at once; it belonged to the same Death Eater who had taken him to the graveyard. "Get up."

Harry had half a mind to refuse, but he decided that he'd rather not give Voldemort or the Death Eater an unnecessary reason to hurt him. He stood up shakily, his limbs tingling, and winced as the Death Eater used his wand to jab him sharply in between the shoulder blades, forcing him out of the cell and down the hallway. They twisted and turned several times before reaching a long blank wall. Harry wished he had his glasses, feeling the beginnings of a headache near his temple.

The Death Eater tapped a complicated pattern on the wall that Harry could not make out, and part of the wall slide aside to reveal a long, narrow stairwell that presumably led up to Voldemort. Harry's forehead throbbed as the Death Eater forced him up the staircase; he tripped near the top, and the Death Eater caught him by the scruff of the neck, pushing him forward onto a landing that smelled heavily of decay before knocking on an intricately carved wooden door, which swung open slightly.

"Enter," came Voldemort's high, cold voice.

Harry tried to stop himself from shaking. His eyes watering with pain, he lifted his head high as he stiffly made his way inside the room. Voldemort was sitting regally in a tall armchair as if he were a king sitting in a throne. Nagini coiled at his feet, her scales gleaming in the flickering firelight originating from the hearth behind Voldemort's chair.

"No words for your master, Harry?" asked Voldemort, amused, as Harry's guard bowed deeply with a murmured "Master" and backed out of the room.

"You're not my master," Harry spat, his nails digging into his palms as he met the narrowed scarlet gaze.

"Oh?" Voldemort smiled. "We shall see, Harry…now…are you hungry?"

The question was so unexpected that Harry jerked in surprise. How long had it been since he'd last eaten?

"I asked you if you were hungry, Harry…" Voldemort's his long, pale fingers twitched around his wand. "You would do well to answer me…"

Harry clenched his jaw and glared at Voldemort fiercely. He would not play this game…he would not admit to weakness…he would not ask Voldemort for anything…

"No?" Voldemort tilted his head, regarding Harry with cold amusement. "Perhaps I can convince you to answer…Wormtail," he called sharply, and a short, round Death Eater that Harry had not noticed scurried out from the corner, his fingers twisting nervously. Harry squinted in confusion; it looked like one of the man's hands was made entirely out of silver. He was balding, and had a sharp pointed nose that reminded Harry of a rat… _Wormtail…_ Realization hit like a ton of bricks as Harry realized just who he was staring at: Peter Pettigrew, who had ratted out Harry's parents to Voldemort on the night of their murder….

"Y-yes, Master?" Wormtail squeaked, wheezing, his glance darting nervously from Harry to Nagini.

"Bring the boy some dinner," Voldemort ordered.

"Yes, Master," replied Wormtail, bowing quickly, and he nervously casted another glance at Harry before shuffling through a door to the right. Harry's hands twitched at his sides; he longed to tackle the man, beat him, hurt him for his betrayal…but he felt like he had been hit with a Body-Bind Curse…his feet remained on the floor, and he remained standing, once again straightening his body and lifting his head to meet Voldemort's gaze.

"You recognize him, don't you, Harry?" asked Voldemort quietly.

Harry didn't answer.

"Betrayal is a terrible thing," Voldemort mused, "but trust is for fools…ah, Wormtail, there you are….why don't you introduce yourself to young Harry?"

Wormtail let out a very rat-like squeak and slowly turned to face Harry, holding a tray of steaming food in his shaking hands. "H-hello, H-Harry," said Wormtail, his voice rising squeakily.

"Harry looks quite a bit like your old friend James, doesn't he, Wormtail?"

"Y-yes," Wormtail agreed nervously.

"Except for his eyes…Lily Potter's eyes…"

"Y-yes, Master," repeated Wormtail, clearly agitated. He shifted from foot to foot, spilling some of the food onto the sides of the tray.

"Wormtail, Wormtail, why are you so nervous? Set the food down in front of Harry, and come sit at my feet."

Wormtail quickly set the tray of food down onto the floor with a loud clink, avoiding Harry's furious gaze, and he sat down next to Nagini, keeping his head bowed.

Harry's stomach growled as the scent of food wafted in his direction. He tried to suppress it, wrapping his arms around himself tightly, but it only growled more loudly.

"Do not resist it, Harry," said Voldemort, smiling cruelly. "Growing boys like you need to eat…don't you agree? Tell me, Harry, that you want to eat… _Imperio!_ "

Utter bliss flowed over Harry, and he heard a soothing voice fill his consciousness. He felt like he was floating weightlessly in midair…everything was wonderful…

 _Beg for it, Harry…_ All he had to do was listen to the voice, and everything would be all right….

 _No…I won't…_ Harry's knees buckled slightly, and he struggled to remain standing.

 _Beg for it, Harry…beg…_ and why shouldn't he? He needed the food more than he needed his dignity…nothing terrible would happen if he asked Voldemort for this one little thing…

 _No!_ Harry gritted as his teeth as his mouth began to open of its own accord. _Stop it…I won't…_

 _Beg for it!_ The voice was no longer soothing, but more insistent. _Beg for the food, Harry, beg for it…_

 _No…NO…_ "NO!"

Harry's chest heaved up and down with the effort of breaking the curse. His whole body was shaking, and he resisted the urge to clutch his pounding head as he glared furiously at Voldemort. Wormtail stared up at Harry in awe, his jaw open, and Nagini lifted her head and hissed menacingly, " _Master…he disobeys you…let me bite the boy…_ "

" _Patience, Nagini,_ " Voldemort hissed, and he rose from the armchair, blocking all of the light as he rose from his armchair and towered over Harry. "I tire of your insolence, boy…perhaps you need a punishment before we continue our lessons… _Crucio_!"

Harry couldn't brace himself against the pain. He heard a sizzling sound for a split-second before he dropped to the floor, screaming, his limbs convulsing relentlessly and overturning the tray of food that still lay in front of him. When the curse was lifted, he lay on the ground, coughing hoarsely; his throat felt as if it had been scraped raw with large amounts of sandpaper, and some kind of warm sauce stained the bottom of his jeans. The world tilted in and out of focus as he slowly stood, swaying unsteadily on his feet.

"Let's try this again, Harry…" Harry couldn't help but flinch as Voldemort raised his wand once more. " _Imperio!"_

The aches and nausea disappeared, and Harry was now floating on a cloud…he wanted to stay like this forever… _Kneel, Harry…_ his legs were starting to bend by themselves… _Kneel…_

 _No,_ said Harry, fighting to retain control of his mind and body, fighting to keep exhaustion from overwhelming him, _no, stop…_ he jerked his leg straight and gave the tiniest shake of his head. _No, I won't…no…_

_Kneel…_

He couldn't help it…he was so tired…he didn't want to be in pain anymore…he slowly bent down on one knee before Voldemort in a grotesque parody of a marriage proposal…

 _No, no!_ he screamed inside his mind. _Stop! STOP!_ His nails dug into his palms, and the sharp, sudden pain brought him back to reality. He took a deep breath and jerked upward in one rapid motion, gulping in a great, desperate breath as if he'd just emerged from underwater. Harry stumbled backward a few steps, shaking with nausea as a burning pain shot through his forehead.

"Wormtail," commanded Voldemort coldly, "take the boy back to his cell."

Harry felt a rush of relief. It was over for now…

"We will continue, Harry," Voldemort said quietly, bending down so that his face was inches away from Harry's; even without his glasses, Harry could make out the pale, unearthly skin and the slitted nostrils on the snake-like face. "I have enough time…it will be very satisfying to see you willingly kneeling at my feet, especially with Dumbledore's precious Order watching…if you are obedient enough, I may even spare the life of your Mudblood girl, Hermione…"

Harry felt his heart seize with horror. _The Order? Hermione?_ How did Voldemort know…? Harry had to escape, he had to warn them….

Numbly, Harry let Wormtail drag him away from Voldemort and down the hidden stairwell, his brain trying to work frantically past the dizziness that threatened to undo him. He squinted, focusing on Wormtail's silver hand which also carried his wand and illuminated the long maze of corridors. _Left…right…right…left…_ Harry tried to memorize the directions, suppressing the urge to vomit and keeping his mind focused on his goal. _Left…left…right…_

When they had reached the hallway to Harry's cell, he launched himself at Wormtail, knocking the balding man down by force of sheer surprise. Wormtail let out a startled squeak, his lit wand dropping out of his hand and rolling toward the wall. Harry scrambled toward it as quickly as he could, kicking Wormtail in the shins, his arm outstretched for the wand…but Wormtail threw Harry off of him and lunged for the wand, barely missing it by a few inches. Harry, winded, flailed about blindly as he lay on his stomach, throwing his elbows and legs out; he heard Wormtail let out another squeak, wheezing heavily, and Harry kicked out again, his fingers curling around the wooden stick. Using the wall for support, he stood, pointing the wand in Wormtail's general direction, and desperately shouted, " _Stupefy_!"

A red jet of light hit Wormtail straight in the chest. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as Wormtail slumped to the floor; it was the first time he'd ever performed the spell…he was lucky he hadn't messed it up. He wondered how long it would be before Voldemort began searching for his servant. He didn't know how long Stunning Spells lasted…He needed to get out as soon as he could, before Wormtail woke up…

But where could he go? He didn't want to go upstairs, where Voldemort and Nagini still lurked. There had to be another way out of the house…a way from this floor…hadn't the drawling Death Eater dragged him outside the graveyard by way of a door? He needed to find that…it had been straight ahead from his cell…

Fighting back nausea and exhaustion, Harry slowly made his way down the hallway from whence he'd come, feeling along the wall for any door. When he reached the corner, his hands brushed against a metal clasp; he stopped and felt it more closely, his heart lifting as he gripped the handle of a door. He pushed it outward, immediately assaulted by a blast of icy wind, and suppressed the urge to shout in joy as he stepped onto a dirt path. He was free…

In the darkness, he did not see the misshapen shadow approaching behind him; he could not hear the clunking footsteps over the howling wind…something hit him hard in the back of his head, and then everything turned black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hermione's dream inspired by Joss Whedon's show _Dollhouse_ (Season 2, episode 10: The Attic). Props to the readers who can guess the meaning of all parts Hermione's dream!


	16. Deceptions

Hermione shivered as cold drops of rain splashed across her face. She clutched the parcel she was carrying closer to her, wishing she had thought to bring an umbrella. Next to her, Remus wrapped his threadbare coat tighter around himself. A group of Muggle villagers rushed by, giving the pair pitying looks as they huddled under their colorful array of umbrellas.

"We're almost there," Remus called, his voice nearly drowned by a particularly loud thunderclap. "Are you all right?"

Hermione nodded, pushing her soaked hair away from her forehead as they turned onto the dirt path that led to the Burrow. She and Remus had gone to the Muggle post office during lunch to check whether or not her parents had sent her any post. Usually she went every Friday morning with Mr. Weasley, but he'd had to go to the Ministry early today.

It had been an odd two days. Sirius had left on Wednesday night on an urgent mission for the Order; he hadn't even said good bye to Harry or Hermione. Harry had been furious about that, nearly slamming the door of Ron's room off its hinges once he'd found out. Hermione couldn't blame him; Sirius wasn't exactly the best godfather at times. Even so, Harry's behavior had been rather strange lately. Sometimes, he'd look at Remus and get this contemptuous look on his face. It'd only last for a moment, but it was enough to make Hermione wonder whether something was wrong.

And then there was the fact that Harry was learning magic far more quickly than she was. It was uncanny how much better he was. They'd started off at the same pace, after all; she'd been more inclined toward Charms and he toward Defense, and she studied Arithmancy while he practiced flying. It had been a nice balance. Now, however, it seemed that Harry was breezing his way through the material, as if he'd already learned it before – even Potions, Herbology, and Transfiguration, which she knew neither of them had touched before Remus and Sirius arrived.

Hermione had to admit that she was jealous. It almost seemed as if Harry had become a prodigy overnight. She didn't want to accuse him of cheating, but with the way he yawned through lessons, a slight smirk on his face as he answered all of Remus' questions correctly and demonstrated every single spell perfectly on the first try…it was as if the shy, quiet boy she'd met at Stonewall had undergone a personality transplant – and a brain transplant.

Remus seemed to notice. Hermione often caught him giving Harry pained glances when Harry wasn't looking, glances which smoothed over into a smile as Harry yet again performed a spell perfectly. Hermione, of course, couldn't get everything right the first time, and Remus was more than happy to spend time tutoring her individually as Harry went on to read the next chapter for Herbology or Potions. Whenever she meant to ask Remus about Harry, however, Remus would leave to check on Harry's progress, and they'd move on to the next lesson before she had a chance to say anything.

 _Perhaps now would be a good time_ , she thought, as they approached the crooked front door of the Burrow. Remus knocked on it, drawing his wand at the same time.

Mrs. Weasley opened the door. "Oh!" she cried, ushering them inside. "Come inside! I was starting to worry."

Remus coughed hoarsely, shrugging out of his wet coat, and waved his wand in a complicated pattern. Hermione felt a blast of hot air pass by her face, and an instant later Remus' coat was dry. He hung it over his arm, then performed the same spell on Hermione's clothes; Hermione smiled in thanks as her clothes dried instantly. Her hair, however, still dripped wetly on the carpet. With a grimace, she pulled it into a messy bun at the back of her head, knowing it'd look ridiculously bushy once it dried, and then she ascended the small set of stairs to Ginny's room, setting the soaked parcel onto the floor and pulling out the accompanying letter from her inner coat pocket. A small smile graced her face as she spotted her mother's neat, familiar handwriting. She'd written to her parents on the same day that Sirius and Remus had served Harry Firewhisky…the day Harry had started to act differently.

_Dear Hermione,_

_It's wonderful to hear from you! Dad and I were worried that you had forgotten us. I'm glad to hear that you are enjoying your courses. Perhaps when you visit for the Easter holidays, you can show us some of your new magic skills. You mentioned that you were having trouble in – Defense, was it? Just remember to have confidence in yourself. Even though Harry is quicker at learning, it doesn't mean he is smarter or better than you in any form._

_I'm shocked that your teacher attempted to serve you whiskey. That sort of behavior is completely unacceptable, and it was irresponsible of Harry to indulge in it. I'm proud that you said no, but next time, Hermione, I want you to get an adult that you trust and inform him or her of the situation. I don't want you (or Harry) to risk being in a situation where others can take advantage of you. I've half a mind to go on over there myself and speak to Remus and Sirius about their behavior. Please give your dad and I a call as soon as possible and let us know that you're all right. We're worried sick that something happened to you._

_On a happier note, we finally finished setting up the new office in Surrey. We're getting wonderful business here; the local families love having a dentist's office so close by, and children are trying to have braces earlier and earlier these days. Fortunately, Dad is qualified to practice orthodontics. It's a pity that we were never quite able to fix your two front teeth – not that it makes you any less beautiful to us!_

_Are you and Harry still getting along well? How about the other kids – the Weasleys? And are you still keeping in touch with your old friends from Witsford?_

_Your father and I miss you very much. Do you think you could ask Mr. and Mrs. Weasley if we could visit you some time? The Easter holidays are so far away, and we want to see you before then. When you have time, take a few photographs of yourself and send them to us. It's difficult not seeing you at home every day._

_We've attached some sugar-free snacks in this package, along with some of the warmer jumpers you forgot to pack. I'm also sending you a recent copy of the_ Times _so you can keep up with what's going on in the world. Don't forget to put on your coat when you go outside, and stay away from too many sweets._

_With love,_

_Mum_

Hermione set down the letter, smiling fondly. She hadn't realized that she was going home for the Easter holidays. Naturally, it was the most logical course of action – when else would she get a chance to see her parents? – but she'd rather fancied the idea of staying here and seeing all of the Weasleys return from Hogwarts. Feeling a little guilty, she pulled open the parcel, grimacing at the feel of the soggy box against her skin. She pulled out a three fleecy jumpers (two red, one blue), and she stacked them in the wardrobe before scooping out the tiny packages of sugar-free fruit snacks and laying them on the desk. Finally, she took out the slightly battered copy of the _Times_ , glancing over it briefly, disinterestedly. It was strange how distant the Muggle world seemed to her now that she was living in the wizarding one.

"Hermione?"

Hermione whirled around. Harry was standing at the door, fidgeting uncertainly. He looked more like himself than he had in days. "Harry," she said. "What is it?"

"I – I need to talk to you about something," he said nervously. "Can I come in?" His gaze flickered around the room, taking in Ginny's Quidditch posters of the Holyhead Harpies on the wall and coming to rest upon the astronomical model that Daniel had given her.

"Come in," she said. "What's wrong?"

Harry took a step into the room and shut the door behind him. Hermione tensed. "Sorry," he said, biting his lip as he caught her wary gaze, "it's private. I don't want Remus or Mrs. Weasley to hear."

Hermione frowned suspiciously and gestured toward the desk. "Oh, well, take a seat, then."

Harry sat down. "I – I don't really know how to start this," he said, looking extremely uncomfortable. "I – well – you trust me, right?"

"Yes," Hermione replied, frowning. "Is something wrong?"

"No – I just –" He swallowed nervously. "I…I realize I've been acting a little differently over the past few days," he said. "And…well…I…I just wanted to tell you why."

Hermione perked up. "Go on," she told Harry.

"I…I…" Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times, flushing a deep red. He picked up one of the sugar-free snacks on the desk and then dropped it, biting his lip.

"What is it?" asked Hermione, beginning to feel concerned.

"Well, I – Hermione…" Harry lifted his head and took a deep breath, meeting her gaze. "I – I _like_ you."

Hermione gaped, momentarily speechless. "What?" She stared at Harry, her brow furrowing. "But I thought you…I thought you fancied Ginny," she said uncertainly. "And – and Cho."

"Well, they're – they're pretty," Harry mumbled toward the ground, "but – but they're not you. I mean, you're really smart…I thought that if I could impress you by studying magic extra hard…I thought you'd fancy me back. It was a stupid plan, I know…"

"Oh, Harry," said Hermione, fighting the urge to laugh hysterically and to hug him at the same time. "I – I had no idea. I thought – well, I knew something was different about you, but I thought you'd been taken over by aliens or something! Not – not this…" Hermione felt her cheeks flush as he looked up at her, his face full of undisguised adoration.

"You're beautiful," he said quietly.

Hermione blushed and averted her gaze. She'd never really had anyone fancy her; she'd never been the pretty, popular girl, just the bookish and intelligent one. Harry was still staring at her, and Hermione felt a tight, thrilling heat in her belly at the intensity of his gaze. She noticed, for the first time, the way his green eyes lit up his face, contrasting sharply against his messy black hair and smooth, pale skin, blemished only by a patch of spots along his chin and some near his cheeks – and, of course, his lightning bolt scar, mostly hidden beneath his fringe. Thanks to Mrs. Weasley's meals, Harry's body had filled out since when she'd first met him; he was slender now, but not scrawny, and Hermione slowly began to realize just why Lina Draper from Stonewall had been so attracted to Harry.

Harry's cheeks were flushed. He tilted his head to the side. "Your hair is wet," he said.

"I got caught in the rain," said Hermione numbly, her mouth dry, and she undid the knot at the back of her head and let her hair fall about her shoulders. "I should go and get a towel…"

"Wait," said Harry. He took out his wand and pointed it directly at her head. "Don't move," he warned, and then he said, " _Siccus_."

Instantly, Hermione's head felt much lighter as the moisture in her hair evaporated, leaving it hanging in bushy strands. She stared at Harry in amazement. "Where did you learn that?" she asked, starting to pull her hair into a plait.

Harry flushed. "Mrs. Weasley has a book on household charms. I took it to Ron's room and started reading it when everyone went to bed."

"Oh," said Hermione blankly, licking her lips to try to bring moisture back to her mouth. "That sounds very useful. Could you show it to me sometime?"

"Er, yeah," said Harry, his gaze dropping to her chest. He flushed and turned away.

For a moment they sat in an awkward silence, neither knowing what to say to the other. Harry ran his hand along the astronomical model, biting his lip, as Hermione tied back her plait.

Finally, Harry took a deep breath. "Hermione…I just…I understand if you don't feel that way about me…but I wanted you to know that I – I really care about you…and whatever happens…I'd never do anything to hurt you." He looked up, his green eyes bright and pleading behind his glasses. "You trust me, right?" he repeated, sounding oddly vulnerable.

Hermione's heart ached for the boy who had become her best friend, a boy who had known no friendship until she'd sat down next to him at Stonewall, a boy who was still plagued with insecurities despite the strength of their friendship. She walked over to Harry and pulled him into a brief, awkward hug, ignoring his startled gasp. "Of course I trust you," she said quietly, holding him by the shoulders and meeting his gaze. She dropped her hands and retreated back to the bed, heat rising in her face. "I care about you too, Harry. You're – you're one of my best friends."

Harry smiled at that. "Er – thanks," he mumbled, fidgeting. He sucked in a breath, standing. "Hermione…I –"

 _Bang_! The door slammed open with such force that Hermione almost fell off the bed in surprise. Mrs. Weasley stood there, her hands on her hips, her gaze narrowed suspiciously. "It's time for lunch," she said brusquely, looking between the two teenagers. "Now."

Harry and Hermione exchanged a confused glance, and then walked down to the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley trailing behind them the entire time like an ominous storm cloud. Hermione dropped into a seat across from Remus, who was rubbing his eyes tiredly. He smiled at her briefly and pushed a plate of sandwiches in her direction. "What did your parents send you?" he asked, glancing toward Harry briefly. He was sitting straight up, eating his sandwiches slowly. That was another thing that had been different about Harry lately – his posture had improved. Hermione supposed it was another thing he'd done to try to impress her. It _did_ make him look better – more like a young man and less like a teenage boy.

"Hermione?" Remus prompted.

"Oh, they sent me some snacks and jumpers, and the _Times_ ," she answered. "The Muggle newspaper. And, Mrs. Weasley" – she turned to the counter –"they wanted to know if they could come and visit the Burrow sometime."

Mrs. Weasley and Remus glanced at each other. "I'm sure we could arrange that, dear," said Mrs. Weasley. "Perhaps you could meet somewhere in Muggle London. It'd be easier for them, wouldn't it?"

Hermione's brow furrowed. "I think they wanted to see a magical place," she replied. "They don't like London anymore. Not after…not after the explosion happened."

"Explosion?" said Remus.

"On King's Street in December," answered Hermione. "My parents' dental office was located there. We were lucky we weren't hurt. I found out later that it was Death Eater attack."

Remus nodded, his expression grim. "Yes, I remember hearing about that. It was one of the first attacks in the city. They're targeting bigger areas now, and more frequently…" He glanced toward Harry again, who had stopped eating and was staring rigidly at his plate. "Are you all right, Harry?" he asked, his eyes flickering slightly.

"Fine," Harry muttered, picking up a half-eaten sandwich and finishing the rest of it without a word.

Remus raised his eyebrows and turned back to Hermione. "May I see the copy of the _Times_ when you're done? I like to keep up with the Muggle news sometimes."

Hermione nodded. "Of course."

"Good. Well then," he said, clasping his hands together and standing, "are you two ready to start our Transfiguration lesson? Today we're going to continue practicing Switching Spells, and next week we should be moving onto a more advanced technique…"

* * *

Someone was groaning. His throat hurt. Cool liquid tipped down it; a hand pushed him down gently onto something soft and warm. His eyes were caked with something, preventing them from opening; he felt hot and sticky.

"Easy, lad. Take a rest, now."

He tried to shake his head. He didn't want to sink back into his nightmares…

"Take a rest, lad. Come on…"

He couldn't fight it. He was too tired…

_With disgust and rage, he looked down at Wormtail, who was cowering and sniveling on the floor. His voice was low and deadly as he asked, "The Potter boy escaped, Wormtail?"_

_"H-he overpowered me, M-Master!" Wormtail sobbed. "I d-did not m-mean to-"_

_"Incompetent fool," he spat savagely. "You helped the boy escape, didn't you?"_

_"N-no, M-master, I didn't!" Wormtail cried, his voice ending in a squeak. "I promise you, M-Master, I d-didn't!"_

_"Your promises mean nothing, Wormtail!" he roared. "_ Crucio! _"_

 _And as Wormtail screamed and flailed, he felt a dark pleasure run through him…his forehead was burning, lightning was running through his veins, shocking him, and it_ hurt _…_

 _Now he was Harry again. He was on a broomstick, soaring through the air joyfully, and he was soaring…_ downward _? Terror seized his heart as he realized he was heading directly toward the graveyard where Voldemort had tortured him. Voldemort stood in the center of the immovable Death Eater circle, smiling. "Harry…I have been waiting for you…"_

_Harry desperately tried to change course, but the wind was pulling him down. He landed hard at Voldemort's feet, the broomstick shattering into a thousand tiny pieces, and looked up into the scarlet eyes with silent terror, feeling bile rise in his throat. Panic gripped his body, and he tried to run as he saw Voldemort lifting his wand…_

_"_ Crucio… _"_

_His limbs convulsed, and he desperately tried to remain sane…pleasure was running through him at the boy's agony, pain tearing through his body and his throat hurt and someone was screaming –_

"Lad, wake up!C'mon, it's only a nightmare…"

Someone was pressing down on his shoulders – _Voldemort was restraining him, his high, cold laugh permeating Harry's consciousness_ – cold water splashed over his face – _there was blood on his hands and his face and Hermione's bushy hair flashed in and out of his vision, her eyes were wide in terror and she was dead_ – "Wake up! It's only a nightmare…" A callused hand was smoothing his hair back, and his face was being patted with something cold and soothing.

Harry returned to consciousness with a moan and swallowed automatically as something cold slid down his throat. "Wh-where…?" he tried to whisper.

"It's going to be all right, lad. You're safe now…"

"N-no," Harry tried to say. "Never…" He'd never be safe….Voldemort's voice was returning, stronger than ever, and Harry could near nothing else…his head was throbbing… _Where is Harry Potter, Wormtail? We must find the boy…he could not have gone far…disguise yourselves as filthy Muggles if you must, find him, FIND HIM, I say, or you will all regret it…Crucio!...Severus, does Dumbledore know where the boy is? Has he hidden him somewhere?...Nagini, my pet, would you like to play? There goes the rat…go, my pet, go and chase it…_ Horror seized Harry as he saw the silver-pawed rat running frantically from the snake, whose jaws were snapping at the rat's tail…Wormtail was going to die… _Harry, Harry, it is an_ honor _to meet you…_.He was back at the graveyard and he could not escape… _Crucio_ … _Imperio…pain and bliss and the smell of food…_ Voldemort was raising his wand…Harry's mouth opened in a silent scream…

"Lad, wake up, come on now…"

Harry forced himself to focus on the old, gravelly voice and swim up to consciousness. He cracked open an eyelid hesitantly; the room was filled with flickering shadows, and for one horrifying moment he lay frozen, thinking that he was back in the dilapidated sitting room with Voldemort. He squeezed his eyes shut. _No…please no…_

"You awake, lad? Can you hear me?"

Something cold was pressed to Harry's forehead. Harry squinted and opened his eyes a little more; they felt caked with something rough and sticky, and he tried to rub them, but his arms merely twitched and then lay limp and weak at his sides.

"Don't try to move, lad, you're not strong enough yet." Something cool and wet gently dabbed at his face and eyes. "Can you open your eyes now?"

With great effort, Harry wrenched open his eyes and stared into the weathered, wrinkled face hovering above him. "Wh-who are you?" rasped Harry, as the old man grasped him underneath the armpits and propped him up against what felt like pillows.

"My name's Frank Bryce, lad," the old man answered, pressing a glass of clear liquid to Harry's lips.

Warily, Harry opened his mouth and let Frank tip the cool water into his mouth and down his scratchy throat. "Where am I?" he asked, bewildered, his unfocused eyes wandering around the room. He could make out a small stone fireplace as well as two dusty frames on the walls.

Frank's walking stick made loud clunking noises as he limped toward a worn wooden table in the center of the room. He let out a gusty sigh as he set down the empty glass and sat down in front of the hearth, squinting at Harry. "You, lad, are in Little Hangleton," he answered. "This is my cottage. I found you outside of the Riddle House."

"The Riddle House," Harry repeated dazedly, staring at the white dressings around his arm and wrists. He vaguely noticed that his shirt was missing. A frayed quilt was covering his legs.

"Aye, the big old house on top of the hill. I've been the gardener for fifty years." There was a note of pride in Frank's voice. He turned to Harry and frowned. "You're not from around here, are you, lad? What's your name?"

"My name's Harry," answered Harry quietly, and after a moment's pause, he said, "I'm from Surrey." He slowly turned his head to look at Frank, startled by the dizziness that accompanied the movement. "How did I get here? Did you bring me here?"

Frank nodded. "I used to be the gardener for the Riddle House," he repeated. "Now, I try to keep the Riddle House nice and neat, leastways the garden, but those hooligan boys are always running over my flowers and throwing stones at the windows. Well, last night I heard the most awful screams…reminded me of when I was in the war, when someone got their legs taken off from a shell…I nearly got mine blown off myself." He nodded toward his left leg and the walking stick that rested against the wall. "Naturally, I went up there to investigate. It took me a while, mind, my leg's not nearly as good as it used to be, but the screaming just kept going and going. It nearly tore my heart out. I try to mind my own business most of the time, but I know when a man's in pain, now, sometimes it's easier to just let 'im pass on…"

Frank trailed off momentarily, and Harry bit his lip, trying to press back the surge of memories at the edge of his mind. _Beg for it, Harry…kneel…well then, Harry, are you ready to die?_ Harry clenched his fists and squeezed his eyes shut, his breath catching in a little gasp. He could see the scarlet slitted eyes, narrowed in amusement…

"Lad!" Frank's sharp voice snapped Harry back to reality. "Lad, can you hear me?"

Harry swallowed and opened his eyes, slowly uncurling his fingers from his palms. He was shaking. Frank was standing over Harry, blocking out the firelight, concern written on every wrinkle in his face. "Had a flashback, did you?"

Harry nodded slightly, unable to meet Frank's gaze. He felt his cheeks flush at his weakness.

Frank frowned. "Are you all right now?"

Harry nodded again, nervously. "I'm fine," he lied. "So – what happened after you went to the house? How did you find me?" Frank couldn't have just walked up to the front door and asked what was going on. Voldemort would have killed him on the spot.

Frank scratched his head and moved back to his chair, dropping into it with a loud clunk, and answered, "I was going up toward the front door when I saw something horrible coming out. A giant snake, it was, never seen anything like it, and there was a hooded figure next to it, _hissing_ – as if the man were a snake himself." He shuddered, staring into the fire. "Well, I'm not stupid. I know an enemy when I see one…I wasn't about to go up there and introduce myself…I waited till they were gone, then checked round the back to see if I could find anyone else, and I saw you."

He turned to face Harry. "You were stumbling out the door, in a right state, shaking and bleeding and gasping something terrible. I knew right away that you needed some help, and I figured that the snake man wasn't going to give you any. There was something about him – him and his snake – it was just evil, it was, I can't even describe it."

Frank went quiet for a moment, staring into the fire again, and then gave a little jerk of his head before continuing, "I hit you round the head and brought you back here. Woulda been easier than trying to take you somewhere in that state," said Frank sharply, as Harry opened his mouth to protest. "Saw it in the war, I did. I finally managed to bring you over here and treat you. I thought you were going to leave this world at first, and I wanted to help ease the passing…but you're stronger than you look, lad. Nearly gave me a heart attack the first time you started screaming in your sleep…you had an awful fever…but you finally broke through it. The cuts on your arms and legs are healed now, too. I thought they'd never stop bleeding at first…"

Harry's mind swam as he visualized the events in Frank's story. He was lucky to be alive…"Thank you," he said to Frank quietly.

Frank waved a hand. "Been a long time since I've helped somebody," he told Harry. "Especially a young lad like yourself. Kids these days…" He muttered darkly under his breath about hooligans and criminals, sounding like Uncle Vernon for a moment. "Now, if you don't mind me asking, lad, what exactly happened to you? Why were you in the Riddle House in the first place?" He frowned. "You're not part of some gang, are you? This wasn't one of those – initiations? Tell me the truth, lad. I don't want any trouble with the police. I had enough of that fifty years ago, what with the Riddles being murdered at their own dinner table. That was an awful time…" He stared into the fire, his brow furrowed, then turned and looked at Harry suspiciously. "Well?"

Harry took a deep breath, trying to figure out a way to explain what happened without mentioning magic. "I'm not in a gang," he told Frank, swallowing with some difficulty. "I was – I was kidnapped. This – the man you saw with the snake – he – he killed my parents when I was a baby, and now he wants to kill me, for – for revenge. Or – he wanted to kill me, but then he – he changed his mind and tried to get me to join him, follow him, but I refused. That's when he started to –"

Harry bit his lip hard, accidentally drawing blood. "He – he tortured me. Punishment, he called it, until I could become o-obedient." Harry was shaking; his eyes were strangely wet, and the room was blurring even more than usual. "He threatened to kill my friends – that's why I escaped. I have to warn them…" Panic bloomed in Harry's chest. How long had he been here? Had Voldemort already reached the Burrow? Had he already hurt Hermione? Harry hadn't seen any of that yet in the vague flashes of the visions he'd received, but the longer he stayed here, the longer his friends would be at risk.

And speaking of visions…how had this Muggle man escaped Voldemort's notice? Voldemort was furious that Harry had escaped…he was looking for Harry everywhere, including nearby Muggle towns. This house was within walking distance of Voldemort's stronghold. Why hadn't Voldemort or the Death Eaters found him yet? Was Frank Bryce really a wizard? Had he cast protections on the house? Or was a wizard helping Frank, without him knowing?

At any rate, Harry couldn't stay here. He was putting both himself and Frank at risk, and he needed to warn Hermione and the Order about Voldemort's plans. With a groan, Harry lifted himself up by his shaking elbows and tried to swing himself out of the bed, only to collapse back down into the pillows a moment later.

"What are you doing, lad?" asked Frank, his bones creaking as he stood, gripping the back of his chair for support.

"I can't stay here," said Harry in a rush, mentally pleading for Frank to understand. "I – I have to warn my friends. I have to get back home." He tried to lift himself up again.

Frank's eyes flickered. "You ought to wait till you get your strength back," he said. "You're no use to anyone in this state. Let me get you some soup – stay right there!" he snapped, as Harry tried to get out of the bed again, and he limped slowly out of the room.

Harry waited, his panic growing with each passing minute as he thought of the fate of his friends. He lifted a trembling hand, gritting his teeth against the effort. His arm felt like dead weight. At last, he managed to touch his scar and rub it slowly. It didn't hurt, which meant that Voldemort either wasn't near or wasn't angry, but it would only be a matter of time before Voldemort found him and killed Frank in the process. Harry didn't even want to think about that.

He took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind, just as Snape had taught him, but then he remembered how Snape had turned him over to Voldemort in the graveyard, and deep coils of anger and betrayal unleashed themselves in his stomach, burning through his blood and traveling upward to his eyes as he thought of Snape and Sirius and Remus, all traitors that he'd trusted without questioning, thinking that they would protect him…that they cared for him….His breath gave an odd little hitch, something wet ran down his cheeks. Harry realized with a start that he was crying. Hastily, he wiped the tears away as Frank re-entered the room, grunting as he carried a steaming bowl of soup in one hand and his walking stick in the other. Harry's stomach churned and he turned his face away; the smell reminded him of the food Voldemort had tried to force him to eat.

"Come now, lad," said Frank, lifting Harry up by the armpits again and maneuvering Harry's body out of the bed. "You need to eat."

Harry gripped the side of the bed and stood on boneless legs, shaking his head. "I'm not hungry," he said, his stomach growling and roiling simultaneously as the soup's scent wafted towards him.

"Lad," said Frank with a scowl, "sit your arse down in that chair before I do it for you."

The warning tone in Frank's voice was unmistakable. Reluctantly, still gripping the bed post, Harry took a halting step toward the table, lurching toward Frank's recently vacated chair with gritted teeth. As he sat down, the scent assaulted his nostrils, and he resisted the urge to double over from nausea.

"You need to eat, lad," said Frank, his gruff voice gentle. "Won't do any good for your friends if you don't have your strength." He pressed the spoon into Harry's hand. "Come on, lad."

"I can't," Harry whispered, his eyes burning as his stomach growled again loudly. Distantly, he knew he needed food, but the thought of being coerced into eating once more made him want to retch. His heart pounded against his chest, and his breath was coming in hiccups. "I – can't –"

"Now then," said Frank, looking alarmed, "it's only a bit of soup…"

Harry swallowed down his nausea and stared at the vegetables floating in the broth, his fingers tightening around the spoon. This was ridiculous. He wouldn't let Voldemort make him fear eating. His hand quivering, he dipped the spoon into the soup and brought it to his mouth, swallowing down the watery mixture. It didn't taste very good, but he did feel a little better. He caught Frank's gaze and flushed. "Thank you," he said again, taking in another spoonful. His hunger started to return with a vengeance, and it took all of his self-control to refrain from attacking the soup like a dog attacking a bone. He wondered how long it had been since he'd last eaten. "What's the date?" he asked. "And the time?"

"It's Friday, January 23," answered Frank. "It's the evening. Around six o'clock, I wager."

Harry did some quick maths in his head, his eyes widening. "I've been gone for four days," he said, a sense of panic once again rising up in his chest.

Frank grunted.

Harry opened his mouth to ask another question, but snapped it shut at the sight of a glowing bright blur of white racing toward him. He gasped and shrank back against the chair, his heart racing. Voldemort must have found him. Harry stood shakily, his gaze locked on the misty bird-like figure hovering above him, and prepared for the inevitable agony awaiting him. The bird opened its mouth, and Harry resisted the urge to flinch. Was it going to eat him? Hurt him? Take him back to Voldemort?

Harry's jaw dropped as a familiar voice echoed throughout the room.

"Harry, this is Albus Dumbledore. Wherever you are, try to get to your aunt and uncle's house as soon as you can. They are expecting you. You will receive further instruction once you have reached the house."

And with that, the white mist dissipated with the faint sound of flapping wings.

Frank was staring slack-jawed at the air. "What was that?"

"I – I don't know," Harry answered truthfully. He knew that wizards used owls to send post, but the bird-like creature had certainly not been in the form of an owl. Harry had never heard of any form of verbal communication between wizards, besides the two-way mirror Dumbledore had given him. He wondered why Dumbledore wanted to send him back to Privet Drive. Surely he would be better off going back to the Burrow and warning everyone about Voldemort's plans. Unless – Harry's stomach filled with dread – unless Voldemort had already attacked the Burrow…

"You recognize this Albus Bumblelore?" asked Frank, sticking a finger in his ear and twisting it.

"Dumbledore," Harry corrected absently, still trying to contemplate what to do. If Voldemort had already attacked the Burrow, then Harry would certainly have seen it in his visions…right? He bit his lip in frustration. He supposed he had no choice but to follow Dumbledore's orders. He didn't even know if he could get to the Burrow through Muggle means. It had a street address for post that Hermione often used, as well as a telephone, but he didn't know what the address or number. He'd never bothered contacting anyone since he'd entered the magical world. Hermione had. Harry's heart clenched suddenly. He wished Hermione were here with him.

"Who –" Frank began.

"I need to call my aunt and uncle," Harry interrupted abruptly. "Do you have a telephone?"

Frank shook his head. "No telephone here, lad." He sent a sharp glare toward Harry's look of utter disbelief. "I never wanted one. There's a telephone box in the middle of the village. I can take you there tomorrow. It's too dark right now."

Harry looked down resignedly and hoped that tomorrow he wouldn't run into any Death Eaters looking for him. He felt slightly drowsy, and the heat of the fire warmed his bare chest, soothing and calming his racing heart. Before he knew it, his eyes were drifting shut.

"Let's get you back to bed, lad," Frank said, as if from a great distance. Harry forced himself to stand up and let Frank guide him toward the bed. He sighed in relief as he laid his head down on the pillows.

"Thank you," he managed to whisper, lifting his head in Frank's direction, and he drifted off into unconsciousness.


	17. Battles

It was early Saturday morning on January 24, and Hermione Granger was once again sitting in the living room of the Burrow, surrounded by Arithmancy notes in the still light of the winter dawn. She hadn't been able to sleep very well. Every time she closed her eyes, she would see Harry's bright green eyes, shining with adoration, and she heard his nervous confession – "I – I _like_ you," and then his quietly murmured, "You're beautiful," and she'd wake up with a gasp, her cheeks flushed and her heart pounding as a strange thrilling heat ran through her belly.

Hermione shook her head slightly, forcing her eyes to stay open despite the exhaustion thrumming through her body. She was fifteen years old, and she knew all about _desire_ , but she – she _couldn't_ think of Harry that way. Though she cared for Harry deeply, she'd never really fancied him before. She was clearly having some sort of physical reaction to what he'd said. That was all it was – physical.

"Hermione?"

Speak of the devil. Hermione turned her head slowly, steeling her courage to meet Harry's gaze. They'd politely avoided each other at lessons yesterday; Harry, of course, had done brilliantly as usual, and had retreated back to his room to read – presumably – while Remus continued to tutor her at a slower pace, assuring her with a gentle smile that she was still picking up things far more quickly than the students he'd taught at Hogwarts. Hermione, though appreciative of the compliment, wasn't certain if he was telling the truth or lying to make her feel better. And though Harry had said he'd only learned magic ahead of time to impress her, she did wonder whether Harry really _was_ simply more talented than she. Maybe she wasn't really meant to be in this world. Maybe…maybe she really did belong in the Muggle world, with GCSEs and A-levels and universities, not magical wands and Latin spells…

"Hermione?" Harry said again, frowning. "Are you all right?"

Hermione took a deep breath and nodded. "I'm fine. Why are you up so early?"

Harry shrugged, slowly walking toward her and perching on the other end of the sofa. "I had a nightmare."

"About Voldemort?"

Harry clenched his fists and hissed slightly. "Yeah."

Hermione worried her lip. "Was it your scar? Did it hurt?"

Harry seemed to go quite still. "My scar?" he repeated, his voice far too calm. "What do you mean?"

Hermione stared at him. "Your scar normally hurts when Voldemort's really angry…remember? And sometimes you can see what Voldemort's doing –"

Harry's body gave a violent jerk, and Hermione snapped her mouth shut, eyeing him warily. "What's the matter?"

Harry shook his head slightly, taking a deep, shaky breath. His face was pale. "Nothing. Nothing. I'm fine." He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and then seemed to relax, the color draining back into his cheeks as he turned to smile at her. "What have you been doing?"

Hermione sent him a glance tinged with suspicion, but she pointed to the sheets of parchment that formed a thin barrier between the two teens. "Arithmancy," she answered. "Look."

Harry picked up her notes and scanned them unseeingly.

"Today's date is marked by the number five," Hermione told him, trying to fill in the awkward silence that had started to settle between them. "That means that when you add up the numbers of the date – zero, one, two, four, one, nine, nine, six – that makes thirty-two. And then three and two make five." She picked up her so-called textbook, a book about ancient numerology gifted to her by her Witsford friend Matthew, and flipped to the middle, showing Harry the chapter titled "Five: The Turning Point."

"Some ancient cultures also believed that the number five represents the center, the turning point about which all things rotate or change," she read aloud, not knowing what else to do. Harry glanced at her, biting his lip, and she continued uncertainly, "The number five is sometimes associated with the intersection of the physical and spiritual, the union of male and female, and other opposite pairings like truth and lies, evil and good, and left and right. On the other hand, many cultures believe that five is a symbol of male power. In relation to astronomy," she finished, "ancient cultures associated the number five with the planet Mars, hence, the number five was often seen as an indicator of war."

Harry tilted his head, his eyes flickering. "That's interesting," he said. "I didn't know that astronomy was related to Arithmancy."

Hermione nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Remus told me that they're closely related. Both are about patterns – astronomy's about the patterns of movement in the sky, and Arithmancy's about numerical patterns that symbolize movement in the world."

"Interesting," Harry murmured again, and he set down the sheet of parchment he'd been holding, clasping his hands on his knees and straightening his back. Hermione watched him silently, her heartbeat unusually rapid. Harry caught her gaze and stood up abruptly, nearly knocking over the stack of parchment on the sofa. "I'm going flying," he said. "I'll be back in an hour."

"You shouldn't go out and fly by yourself," Hermione protested, though in some ways she wanted Harry as far away from her as possible, just so she wouldn't have to face this unbearable tension.

Harry's face immediately twisted into a scowl, and then, just as quickly, it lit up with a smile. "I won't be alone," he said, "because you're coming with me."

"What?" Hermione frowned. "I suppose I could sit in the garden and keep an eye on you –"  
"That's not what I meant," Harry said impatiently. "I meant, you're going to ride with me. Behind me."

Hermione's eyes widened. "That's – that's ridiculous," she said. "We've never learned how to fly a broom with two people on it. Besides, I hate flying."

"You trust me, right?" asked Harry, his eyes sparkling. "I won't let anything happen to you, I promise. And it's easy enough to maneuver a broom with two people on it instead of just one – it's just a matter of adjusting the weight distribution." He waved a hand. "Very simple."

Hermione casted Harry a very doubtful look.

"Oh, come on," he wheedled. "It'll be fun. You need to get over your fear of flying. What if something happens and you need to fly away on a broom?" He glanced at the clock hanging above the hearth hanging above the mantelpiece. It was nearly seven o'clock. "I'm going to change clothes," he said. "You'd better get ready too." He grinned at her and ran out of the room, leaving Hermione staring after him in utter bewilderment.

Hermione sighed. Harry had made a good point. She _did_ need to learn how to fly. She wasn't terribly frightened of heights, but she hated the lack of control she felt on a broom, when there nothing but air all around her and nothing to hold onto but a bit of wood. She supposed it wouldn't be so bad if she were riding with Harry. He was, undoubtedly, an excellent flier, and with him steering the broom, she could learn to stop being afraid of the air.

Feeling slightly reassured, Hermione gathered up her notes and went to Ginny's room, rubbing her eyes tiredly as she contemplated taking a nap later in the afternoon. A black-haired, green-eyed teenage boy watched her from the top of the staircase, his gaze thoughtful as he traced the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead and fingered the holly wand hidden inside the sleeve of his jumper.

* * *

A passing car zoomed by, and Harry twitched violently, taking heaving gasps as he listened to the fading sound of the motor.

"It's just a car, lad. It's all right."

"Sorry," Harry muttered. "I'm sorry." He fiercely wished he had his glasses. The village around him was blurred into a mass of orange, grey, and green as the sun slowly lifted its head above the horizon, casting all of the buildings into a pale red light. It would be a pretty, quaint sight if only he could see properly.

"It's all right, lad. Just a little bit farther now."

Harry couldn't help but look over his shoulder every few seconds as Frank Bryce led him to the middle of Little Hangleton. The elderly man was hobbling along, panting and cursing under his breath as he gripped his walking stick with one arm and supported Harry with the other. Harry could stand on his legs and walk, shakily, for a few minutes, but he still didn't have enough strength to walk the entire length of the village, even though he'd eaten a decently sized breakfast and slept for quite a while. He hadn't had any visions last night, but he suspected that Voldemort and the Death Eaters were still looking for him; they had no reason to stop. He still wondered how they hadn't found him at Frank's house, especially since it had been so close.

Nervously, Harry patted Wormtail's stubby dark wand in the waistband of his jeans, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice. Frank, fortunately, had not seen fit to throw the stick of wood away when he'd found Harry; Harry made a mental note to thank him later.

A biting, howling wind tore through the street, sounding almost like Voldemort's screams of fury, and Harry shivered. He was wearing the same jumper and jeans he'd had on when he was kidnapped; Frank had taken the liberty of washing them while Harry laid unconscious. Frank had also lent him a very old, musty wool coat which rode up Harry's wrists by a few inches and hampered the movement of his shoulders. Harry didn't really favor it. It reminded him of being tied up by Voldemort. Still, he supposed it was better than trying to survive the cold with only a jumper.

"The Hanged Man," Frank panted suddenly, pointing upward. Harry blinked and squinted and the wooden sign swinging wildly above his head. If he were a little taller, he might have been knocked unconscious already. "It's the village pub," said Frank. "Looks like it's open early today. Lad, you don't mind if we stop in and get a drink, do you? My old bones are feeling the cold."

Harry bit his lip. He wanted to reach the telephone box as soon as possible, but at the same time, he owed Frank his life. And, frankly, they both needed a rest. "All right," he said hoarsely, coughing. His throat was parched. Maybe he needed a drink as well.

"Good lad," said Frank, and he pushed open the door of the crowded pub. Smoke and alcohol assaulted Harry's nostrils, and the noise and chatter that filled his ears seemed to die down as soon as Frank took a step inside.

"Morning, Frank," someone called, his tone one of forced casualness. "Who's that you've got there?"

"None of your business," Frank retorted, limping toward a table in the corner and dragging Harry with him. "Sit down, lad, let me get us some drinks. Why are you open early, Tommy?" he asked as he made his way toward the counter.

"My boy suggested it as a new 'management technique'," the barkeep answered. "Summat he learned from that fancy university of his. Keeps chewin' my ear off about 'target population' and 'consumer needs.' Boy's got a point. It's bloody cold these days, and most o' us are up and about in the morn…" As his voice trailed off, all of the attention in the pub gradually shifted toward Harry, till the only sounds in the room were the squeaks of Tommy's rag wiping across the counter and the quiet clunk of glasses being set down on wood. Harry stared at the splintered table, his cheeks flushing, and avoided everyone's probing gazes.

"What's your name, love?" asked a young woman gently.

Harry bit his lip and didn't answer. Sweat started to trickle down the base of his neck, and he struggled to breathe. It was too hot in here. He tugged off Frank's old coat and set it aside, trying to take in deep breaths of the polluted air.

"Are you all right, love?" asked the same young woman.

Harry shook his head slightly, his hands starting to shake.

"Is he mute, Frank?" called a hoarse voice from the back. "Gone silent, has he? Funny in the head?"

Some murmurs traveled about the crowd. Harry caught a pitying whisper of "poor lad," and felt his cheeks heat in anger. He was _not_ crazy…

"Leave the lad alone," Frank snapped, pushing his way through the villagers and slamming down two frothing glasses in front of Harry. "Here you are. A pint of bitter each for me and you."

Harry warmed his hands along the glass, glad for the distraction, and looked down into the amber liquid with not a small amount of trepidation. The Firewhisky Sirius and Remus had served him had made him drunk and sleepy in an instant. He supposed that the beer wasn't nearly as strong as whiskey, but he didn't want to risk it.

"You all right, lad?" asked Frank with a frown. He jerked his head toward Harry's glass. "You don't want it?"

Harry shook his head and pushed his glass across the table.

Frank eyed him for a moment, and then shrugged, gulping down his own as the door to the pub opened once more, letting in a gale of freezing air that made gooseflesh break out onto everyone's skin.

"G'afternoon, gents," the barkeep called. "What can I get you?"

Harry chewed his lip uneasily as the two tall men gave their order. There was something oddly familiar about the way the thickset, dark-haired one. He caught Frank's eye and quietly began to put on his coat, standing slowly so as to not draw the villagers' attention away from the new guests. Frank also stood up, gripping his walking stick and offering his other arm to Harry. Harry took it and held his breath, keeping a hand on the hidden wand, as they slowly made their way to the door, receiving a few covert, suspicious glares along the way.

"…lad looks white as a ghost…"

"What happened to him, the poor thing? Can't even stand up properly…"

"…awful suspicious, that Frank Bryce…"

Frank ignored them, a scowl deeply embedded onto his face. Finally, he pushed open the door, and they made their way onto the pavement. Harry visibly relaxed and ran a hand through his hair. "Where's the telephone box?" he asked.

"Just around the corner, lad, in the village square. We're almost there." Frank patted Harry's arm comfortingly and led him down the street. "Did you recognize those men in the pub?"

"Not really," Harry said. "I just didn't have a good feeling about them."

Frank nodded and grunted, taking Harry around the corner. Harry shifted uncomfortably in the too-small coat, relief lighting his features as they finally reached the distinctly red telephone box that made up the centerpiece of the village plaza. Next to it stood a rather ugly statue of some historical figure and one or two benches half-covered by bushes. Taking a few coins from Frank with a nod of thanks, Harry clambered inside the box, shutting the door against the cold, and dialed the Dursleys' number.

"Vernon Dursley speaking."

"Uncle Vernon," said Harry, coughing a little as he shook his arms out of the old wool coat, "it's me. Harry."

" _You!_ " Uncle Vernon bellowed. Harry winced at the volume, pulling the receiver away from his ear. "What do _you_ want, boy?" hissed Uncle Vernon.

"Er –" Harry hesitated. "Professor Dumbledore said that you and Aunt Petunia were expecting me. I'm supposed to go back to the house."

"What are you going on about, boy? We never received any message from that freaky old – oh, hello dear." Uncle Vernon's voice dropped off suddenly. "Yes, it's the boy. _What?_ Why? Oh – oh, yes, dear. Oh, all right! Boy!" Uncle Vernon shouted. "Are you still there?"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," said Harry, rubbing his eyes. His legs were starting to feel a little shaky, and he leaned against the wall of the booth.

"Where are you? We're coming to pick you up. Give me the address, I haven't all day."

"I'm in a village called Little Hangleton. It's in Yorkshire," answered Harry.

" _Yorkshire_?" Uncle Vernon thundered. "Do you know how far that is? Why the ruddy hell are you in Yorkshire? Do you think we've got all day to pick you up? We have things to do, boy! Places to go! People to see!"

"It's not like I _meant_ to be here," Harry snapped, rubbing his temples against an impending headache. "I was kidnapped."

"Kidnapped? Got yourself into some kind of trouble, did you? I always knew you were –"

But what Uncle Vernon always knew Harry was, Harry never found out, for the windows on one side of the telephone box suddenly cracked ominously with a screeching clink. Harry dropped the phone and whipped around, drawing Wormtail's wand, and gaped. Frank was deliberately and rhythmically pounding his walking stick against the glass windows of the box. Harry flung himself toward the ground as glass shards exploded around him, shouting " _Protego!"_ just before one hit his eye, and reached a trembling hand toward the door. Panting, he managed to get a grip on the latch, but was forced to drop back down again as Frank swung his walking stick toward another set of windows. " _Protego!"_ Harry screamed, his heart pounding in his ears, and he lunged for the door again, twisting the latch and swinging the door outward. Distantly, he realized that this was the first time he'd ever attempted the Shield Charm, and he thanked his lucky stars that he'd got it right.

Harry crawled out of the box, coming face-to-face with Frank's wrinkled brown trousers. He looked up in dread, expecting Frank to attack him, but Frank stood still and dropped his walking stick, staring down at Harry with an eerily blank expression. Harry scrambled to a standing position and thrust Wormtail's wand out in front of him with both hands, backing away from the old man, his stomach twisting with horror. He couldn't believe Frank had just tried to kill him. Breathing heavily, Harry tried to clamp down on the hopeless despair that was threatening to overwhelm him. He was alone, he was helpless, and his one source of aid had just tried to take his life…

"You can't outrun us, Potter," came a familiar, drawling voice to Harry's right. "Come with us quietly and we'll spare the Muggle."

Harry's eyes flickered toward Frank and his heart seized with fear and horror. Frank's expression was still blank, but his head was tilted upward in an awkward position, as if someone had forcefully bared his throat to slit it. Harry felt sick at the sight. As he watched, Frank's head was jerked backward even farther, and something like pain flickered behind the old man's worn, wrinkled eyes. Harry's heart caught in his throat, and he let out a strangled noise borne of fear and desperation.

"Leave him out of this," Harry pleaded.

"Drop the wand, Potter, and the Muggle won't get hurt," the drawling voice said quietly.

Harry tore his eyes away from Frank and gritted his teeth, turning in the direction of the voice, and began to lower his wand.

"Good boy," drawled the voice, amused. "Now drop the wand on the ground, Potter, that's it…"

Harry concentrated on keeping his pace steady as he lowered the wand till it was pointing toward the ground. He made as if to release it – and then in a flash, he jerked his hands upward. " _Stupefy! Expelliarmus!"_ he shouted, aiming in the direction of the drawling voice. Without bothering to see if the spells worked, he whirled toward Frank. " _Stupefy!"_

Frank's eyes rolled in the back of his head, and he slumped slightly something small and wooden hit the small of Harry's back.

 _"Stupefy!"_ Harry shouted again, pointing the wand slightly above Frank's shoulder, and then dodged as the spell flew back toward him. " _Expelliarmus!_ _"_ cried Harry desperately. _"Stupefy!"_

A wand soared towards Harry, and he caught it with his left hand as both Frank and his invisible captor fell to the ground with loud thumps. Harry bent down and picked up the elm wand that had hit his back, sticking it into the waistband of his jeans, and holding out the other two wands, he unsteadily walked in the direction of the drawling voice, hoping that the _Stupefy_ spell had actually worked. His feet hit what felt like a knee, and he ran his foot along the length of the body, feeling some kind of fabric move beneath his trainers. Unceratin as to whether the man was actually unconscious, Harry pointed Wormtail's wand downward and said, " _Stupefy_!" once more.

Harry dropped to his knees and crawled toward Frank, letting out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding when he felt a faint, weak pulse beat against his icy fingers. He pulled Frank's body off of the invisible Death Eater and set it gently down onto the ground, running a hand through his hair and taking a deep breath. No matter what Frank had just tried to do, the man had helped Harry when Harry had it most, and Harry would not just leave him to die. Fortunately, there was a telephone box two feet away from Harry that he could use to call an ambulance. Unfortunately, it was destroyed.

Taking a deep breath, Harry surveyed the damage around him as he blinked in exhaustion. Broken glass littered the once neat plaza, catching Harry's blurred gaze as they glitttered in the winter sunlight. Harry squinted, hoped that no one else was around, and pointed Wormtail's wand toward the box. " _R-reparo_ ," he said quietly, trying to keep his hand steady. He heard the sides of the box unbend themselves with a weird creaking noise. Harry repeated the spell until all of the glass windows had been reassembled, then dug some spare coins out of his pocket and weakly stumbled into the booth, pocketing the wand in his left hand while keeping Wormtail's in his right. He leaned against the box and dialed "999," holding the receiver with a shaky hand.

"999, which service do you require?" came a cool female voice.

"Ambulance, please," Harry said, fighting exhaustion.

"Stokes calling 01624 422 537…"

A few minutes, or seconds, later, another deeper voice came on the phone. "Glenda from Emergency Services. Please state your name, location, and the nature of your emergency…"

As Harry finished his call, he sighed and stepped out of the telephone box, finding the unconscious Death Eaters again by feeling along the ground with his foot. He cast another set of _Stupefy_ 's on them, and then a Full Body-Bind for good measure, listening to the invisible limbs snap shut with a sense of numb exhaustion. He then sat down on the ground next to Frank's prone body and curled his knees to his chest, fighting to stay awake as he waited for the ambulance to arrive in twenty minutes.

* * *

"Harry, I don't like this," Hermione cried, her hands clutching the front of Harry's woolly red jumper as they sped towards the blinding sunrise. "I thought we were going to fly at lower heights!"

"Relax, Hermione," Harry shouted, "you're cutting off my air."

Hermione loosened her grip a little and stared at Harry's narrow shoulders. "I think we should go down now," she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "I don't like this…Harry, take me back down, please…"

Harry twisted his head to look at her, his face shadowed against the sun. The lenses of his glasses covered his green eyes, tinting them with red light. Hermione's stomach turned uneasily at the sight. "I'll fly slower," Harry said softly. "Just let me show you how brilliant this can be." He turned around and smoothly pushed the broom forward at a steady pace, strands of his untidy black hair gently brushing Hermione's face. "Is this better?" he asked.

"Yes," said Hermione quietly.

"Good. I'm going to fly around in a circle, all right? Slowly. Tell me if you want me to stop, and I'll stop right away."

"All right," said Hermione, taking a deep, calming breath. The icy wind stung her nostrils, and she sniffled involuntarily as she unconsciously tightened her hold on Harry's waist.

Harry tensed but didn't protest. "Ready?" he asked. "One – two – three..." And he used his gloved hands to turn the broom gently to the left. Hermione convulsively clutched the edge of his jumper. Harry hissed in pain, and Hermione reluctantly released her fingers as he slowly steered them through the now-orange sky.

"Isn't it beautiful?" he asked softly.

Hermione lifted her head and looked around. She could make out the faintest edges of blue and purple above them, dotted by thin, wispy clouds that brushed the horizon like tiny pink veils. The sun, slowly rising higher and higher above them, cast long shadows on the ground, so that the only other thing Hermione could see was Harry's soft, jet-black hair. Hermione felt her eyes wet irrationally with tears. "It's beautiful," she agreed in a whisper.

Harry turned his head and smiled at her, his gaze full of some emotion she couldn't identiy. "Ready to take a ride?" he teased.

Hermione nodded, returning his smile. "Take it away," she said, and she leaned forward slightly – just in time to a sickly green light rise up in the sky. Hermione frowned, confused, and then her eyes widened in horror as the light resolved itself into a horribly familiar shape - a skull with a snake hanging out of its mouth, the same shape she'd seen when her parents' office had exploded in London. "Harry!" she cried. "The Dark Mark!"

Harry's head whipped around, and she felt his body seize up with fear. "Hold on!" he shouted, and he plummeted downward with a shout. Hermione's scream was lost in the wind that howled past her ears as they dove directly toward the center of the paddock, where lights and hisses and curses warred tumultuously in the air.

"Harry, turn! Turn! Now!" Hermione shouted.

"No!" yelled Harry, and he let out a laugh so insane that Hermione nearly lost her grip on his waist. A jet of white-yellow light sizzled past Hermione's ear; she screamed and ducked as they hurtled toward the ground, throwing her arms out in front of her face as she crashed into the grass. She could smell something burning; she looked down and realized, with a jolt of shock, that the end of her plait had been singed.

"Hermione!"

Hermione's head shot up, and she let out another shriek, rolling to her left as a streak of purple light shot toward her.

"Hermione!" shouted Harry. He was crouched down beside her, and he had his wand out, a mad grin lighting up his face. "Hermione, do you trust me?"

"Wh-what – yes, of course!" cried Hermione, as a pair of boots rushed past her and nearly trampled her head.

"Good," said Harry, and he stood up, seemingly unconcerned by the myriad spells flying around him.

"Harry! Get down!" Hermione screamed.

Harry shook his head. He was laughing, madly, and the sound chilled Hermione to the bone. He lifted his wand, pointed it at the house, and shouted something that Hermione could not comprehend. There was the sound of breaking glass, and then something large and glittery flew directly into Harry's outstretched arms. Clutching it, he dropped back down to the ground and threw it in front of Hermione. Her jaw dropped open in confusion. It was her astronomy model, the one her friend Daniel had given her as a Christmas present. "Harry – what -?" she asked, wondering if Harry had gone mad. "What is this?"

Harry's eyes were narrowed into a calculating gleam. "You need to take it."

"What – why -?"

"Just take it!" Harry yelled, looking quite demented. He pushed the model toward her roughly, his red gloves leaving little pieces of lint against the glass. "You need to take it!"

Hermione stared at him, alarmed, and flinched as a booming explosion sounded to her left. "All – all right – I'll take it!" she shouted, and she reached out a hand toward the model.

" _REDUCTO!"_

The roar came from somewhere above Hermione's head. The beautiful model exploded, its pieces flying out onto the grass and piercing Hermione's outstretched palm. She let out a cry of terror, her hand flaring with fiery pain, and then a loud thud beside her drew her attention. Harry had fallen to the ground, unconscious. He lay crumpled on his side, his cheeks torn by the sparkling, jagged glass, his glasses bent against his face. "No!" she screamed, launching herself toward her friend. Some of her blood dripped onto his skin, but Hermione didn't care. "H-Harry!"

"Hermione, _no_! _Relashio!_ " A strong gust of air forcefully threw her body away from Harry's; a pair of strong arms caught her, and she struggled, desperately trying to get back to Harry. "Hermione! Hermione, listen to me –" The man grabbed her wrists. "Hermione – _Protego!_ " – a white shield erupted around them, and red light bounced off of it, and she still couldn't reach Harry, she needed to reach Harry!

"Let me go!" she screamed.

"No!" The grip on her wrists tightened to the point that she could feel her bones grind together. "Hermione, it's Remus – Hermione, listen to me! It's not what it seems – whatever you do, don't lose this—" Something was pressed into her bleeding hand; Remus pushed her toward the ground; Hermione felt a jerk behind her navel as Harry's face began to elongate, his features shifting and dripping like a famous oil painting Hermione had seen in her youth, like something out of her nightmares –

And then the world was swirling around her, and the screams and colors of the battle were fading, and she was landing on her knees in a place that stank like garbage, sobbing, bleeding, alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chocolate chip cookies to anyone who can spot which previous chapter heavily foreshadowed this one!


	18. Shocks

Hermione did not know how long she knelt on the ground, tears streaming down her face, before a cold, wet nudge on her wrist drew her back to her senses. Sniffling heavily, she blinked down in surprise at the massive black dog that was whining beside her, its ears flattened back against its head. The dog nudged her injured hand, whining, and Hermione winced as its nose brushed against the cuts, a stinging pain erupting along her palm. Slowly, she uncurled her fingers and watched as a tiny black button, covered with blood, fell onto the cracked pavement. Confused, she turned her attention to the crumpled bloodstained parchment that lay pressed against her palm. She lifted it out, unfolding it with shaking fingers, and looked down blankly at the loopy black print, stained here and there with flecks of her blood.

 _The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place_.

Something was moving at the edge of Hermione's vision. The black dog whined again, pawing at her ankles insistently, and she stood up on shaky legs, gasping as a house seemed to appear before her eyes, pushing its neighbors to the side as it expanded outward. Her heart pounding, Hermione looked around, trying to see if anyone else had noticed, but she and the dog were the only beings on the street. A foul smell wafted toward her, and Hermione wrinkled her nose at the overflowing bin-bags that sat to her right, sweets wrappers and crisps packets decorating the small, rusty gate that guarded the entrance to house Number Eleven. The house's dirty, cracked windows vibrated in time with a thudding, pulsing beat from an overly powerful stereo, and Hermione shivered as she took in the rest of the street. All of the houses appeared to be in derelict condition, including the one that had just appeared – Number Twelve.

The dog whined loudly and began to head toward Number Twelve. Hermione hesitated, staring after it, her muddled thoughts slowly clicking together like puzzle pieces lying forgotten in the back of her mind. " _Sirius_?" she breathed.

Sirius – the dog – stopped and looked back at her, growling in warning, and then motioned for her to follow with a jerk of his head. Hermione glanced at the parchment still crumpled in her hand and slowly crossed the bare, dry lawn to the battered, wooden door. It had no handle, but it did have a tarnished silver knocker in the shape of a serpent. Hermione frowned and looked down at Sirius. "How am I supposed to enter?" she asked.

Sirius the dog whined and nudged her right knee. Hermione's brow furrowed. "Oh," she said softly, spotting the wand sticking out of her right jeans pocket. She'd brought it along just in case something happened when she and Harry were flying. Her eyes widened as she pulled out her wand, thankful that it was her left hand that had been injured and not her right. "Sirius," she whispered urgently. " _Harry_ –"

Sirius cut her off with a low growl, baring his teeth.

Hermione's mouth snapped shut, and she stepped back, startled and a little frightened. "What?"

Sirius looked at the door again, and then looked back at her.

"How do I open it?" asked Hermione, feeling slightly foolish talking to a dog, though she knew it was a person. "Will _Alohomora_ work?"

Sirius jerked his head up and down, his tail wagging.

Hermione pressed her wand to the door. Her hands were trembling. " _Alohomora_ ," she whispered.

The door swung open to reveal a long hallway with flickering light. Sirius waited until Hermione had stepped in before pushing the door shut with one paw, transforming from dog to man in an instant. He drew his wand and tapped the door with it; Hermione heard the click of a lock, even though the door had no doorknob. Her eyes watered as she took in the peeling wallpaper and dusty portraits lit weakly by cobweb-covered gas lamps. It was as if she'd stepped into Charles Dickens' _Great Expectations_ , and she half-expected the little girl Estella to round the corner and lead her to aged, decrepit Miss Havisham. Hermione choked as a hysterical laugh bubbled up from her throat. What was she doing thinking about Dickens at a time like this?

"Hermione," said Sirius quietly, his brow furrowed in concern. "Are you all right?" He gently took hold of her injured hand, pulling the parchment out of it. " _Incendio_ ," he muttered, and he quickly let go as the parchment burst into flames, a pile of ashes dropping onto the thin carpet. He turned her hand over, frowning as he examined the scabbed cuts along her palm. "What happened?"

"It was the model," answered Hermione. Her voice sounded as if it were coming from a great distance. "It exploded. Harry…he wanted me to take it…" Her hands and feet felt strangely cold, and she couldn't seem to make herself speak. Her breath sounded heavy in her ears, and she was shivering uncontrollably.

"Hermione." Sirius grasped her by the shoulders firmly. "Hermione, you're going into shock. Look at me."

Sirius' eye color changed from grey to black to grey in the quivering light. Hermione focused on them, taking deep, trembling breaths as she struggled to get herself under control. After a moment, Sirius drew back, seemingly satisfied.

"Let's get your hand healed," he said. "Follow me – quietly. I don't want to wake anyone up."

"Wake who up?" Hermione asked, confused.

Sirius waved a hand, leading her down the entry way. "I'll explain later," he said in a low voice. Hermione noticed a large set of curtains hanging in front of the wall, as if something was hidden there. Most of the decorations seemed to have something to do with serpents. She frowned, wondering what kind of place Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place was supposed to be. An ancient snake temple, perhaps? Did wizards worship that kind of thing?

"Down here," Sirius muttered, opening a door at the end of the hall to reveal a set of narrow stone stairs. They descended into a large, cavernous kitchen with a large fireplace at the far end. Iron pots and pans, probably very rusted, hung from the ceiling above. A long wooden table sat in the center of the room, surrounded by twelve chairs. Sirius pulled one out for Hermione, gesturing for her to sit down, as he grabbed a rag lying near the stove. " _Scourgify,_ " he said quickly, turning and lighting the fireplace as soap and bubbles erupted out of the rag. " _Aguamenti._ " Sirius wrung the water out of the rag and came toward Hermione.

"I apologize, I don't have any Murtlap essence or wound cleaner at the moment," he said. "Was it glass that cut you?"

Hermione nodded. Her throat seemed to have closed up for some reason, and she was shivering violently.

Sirius' brow creased. He handed her the damp but clean rag, and she let out a hitched breath as the cold moisture hit her wrist. "Can you clean the wound?" asked Sirius. "I'll Transfigure the rag into a bandage once you've finished." He shook his head bitterly. "There's nothing useful in this place. I've been trying to clean it, but it's too big for a one-person job…"

Hermione nodded, staring at the rag for a moment, and then slowly rubbed the dried blood off her skin, letting out a little cry as the contact made the pain of the wounds flare up once more. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she held them back, focusing on her task. When she was done, she set down the rag on the table, feeling slightly ill as she examined some of the newly reopened cuts. There were two long but shallow gashes along the palm of her hand, and the top of her hand had been grazed four or five times, once in between her index and middle finger.

"You're certain that there's no glass left in the wound?" asked Sirius.

She shrugged.

He took her hand and lit his wand with a quick " _Lumos_ ," squinting for a moment.

"I think you're all right," he said, wrapping her hand with a clean white roll of bandages. "The cuts on your palm may scar a bit. I'll ask Dumbledore to bring some medical supplies when he gets here."

"Where are we?" asked Hermione, finally finding her voice.

Sirius smiled grimly. "This," he announced with a flourish, "is my old childhood home. It's also the new headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, because it's got every security measure on it known to wizard-kind. My father made the house Unplottable, and Dumbledore's got it under a Fidelius Charm. There are loads of spells on all of the entrances to the house – I spent some time modifying the ones on the front door so that you could enter, but I repaired them right away."

Hermione fixed her eyes on the table as she processed all of this information. Then she took a deep breath. "Sirius," she began quietly. "Harry – he's still at…at the Burrow. He was knocked over, unconscious…injured…I couldn't help him. Remus pulled me away. I'm sorry…"

"That wasn't Harry," Sirius said sharply.

Hermione's head shot up. "What? What do you mean?"

"They didn't tell you?" he asked, shocked.

Hermione stared at him, her chest tightening. "Tell me what?"

Sirius rubbed the back of his neck, his expression darkening. "Do you know what Polyjuice Potion is?"

"No," Hermione replied apprehensively.

Sirius ran a hand through his shaggy hair, clearly aggrieved. "Polyjuice Potion is a potion that can turn you into someone else," he explained. "A Death Eater's been using it to masquerade as Harry in the Burrow since Tuesday, when Harry was captured by Voldemort somehow. We didn't know until Wednesday, when Voldemort –" Sirius' voice shook, and he closed his eyes as if he were in pain. "Voldemort used Harry for some kind of ritual, and then he summoned the Death Eaters so that he could show off. Dumbledore found out, and then he told us – me, Remus, Molly, and Arthur. That was why I left. To see someone posing as my godson – it – "

Hermione jumped in her seat as Sirius slammed a fist down onto the table, looking murderous. He took a breath, shaking his head like a dog, and continued, "I left to prepare this place as the new headquarters. We knew that the Death Eaters would be attacking the Burrow, especially since they'd managed to plant a fake Harry there."

Sirius' chair scraped loudly across the floor, and he began pacing, anxiety written all over his face. "Apparently Harry escaped from Voldemort on Thursday night. Dumbledore sent him instructions to go to his aunt and uncle's house, but he hasn't arrived there yet. We don't know where he is."

Hermione gaped at Sirius, her eyes wide as the information slowly sank in. Harry's behavior for the past week suddenly made much more sense. She felt sick to her stomach. Whoever had been posing as Harry, she'd ridden a broom with him, held him around the waist, even fantasized about kissing him…she'd trusted him with her life, and not only that, but with her heart. "Oh, my God," she whispered, paling. Her arms were beginning to shake again – arms that had hugged an impostor, a stranger, and her whole body felt dirty. She wanted to run to the shower and scrub herself until her skin was red and raw, but she felt frozen to the chair, unable to move. "Oh my God…"

"Tea," said Sirius abruptly, bringing her back down to Earth. He moved to the stove and put the kettle on. "You need tea."

"But…" Hermione stared at Sirius uncomprehendingly, trying to sort out her thoughts. "But Remus…Remus still taught Harry in lessons, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley acted the same way toward Harry. If they already knew that Harry was – wasn't Harry, but actually a Death Eater, why didn't they try to capture the Death Eater right away?"

"That's what I suggested," Sirius replied, as he slammed down two cups of tea jerkily, "but Dumbledore said that it was better to wait." Sirius ran a hand through his hair agitatedly. "He said that we should lure the Death Eaters in, give them a false sense of security so that we could take them off-guard when they tried to attack us. We knew that they'd do it today, so we were prepared. If they found out that we already knew about the fake Harry, then they would have tried to attack the Burrow immediately, when we didn't have backup from the rest of the Order."

Hermione numbly examined the end of her singed plait, feeling the ash crumble between her fingers like her view of life for the past week. "They didn't tell me," she whispered. The sense of betrayal threatened to choke her; she struggled for air. "Why didn't they tell me that Harry wasn't really Harry? Why didn't they tell me? Why didn't you tell me?" Her voice rose shrilly, and she glared at Sirius furiously.

Sirius looked taken aback. "I –"

A deep, insidious voice emerged from the shadows, cutting him off. "Kreacher hears the Mudblood screaming, oh yes, savage beast like it is, oh, my poor mistress, if she could see Kreacher now…"

"Damn," muttered Sirius, turning to face the ugly, short creature that had come out from somewhere behind the kitchen. It had a bulbous nose and many folds of skin, and white tufts of hair were sprouting out behind its pointy, drooping ears. Hermione fought to keep herself from grimacing as she caught sight of the filthy pillowcase that was draped across its hunched body.

"Filthy Mudblood, invading mistress' house –"

"Kreacher!" Sirius snapped. "Go to the drawing room and clean the windows. Now."

Kreacher bowed, its nose touching the floor. "Kreacher must do as master says," he croaked, his bullfrog voice echoing through the silent room. "Oh, my poor mistress, if she could see Kreacher now, mistress' son, shame of her flesh…"

" _Now!_ " Sirius barked.

Kreacher slinked out of the room, still muttering under his breath. "Kreacher must listen to the blood-traitor master, but Kreacher will not clean for the Mudblood, oh no…"

Sirius turned back to Hermione, his jaw clenched. "I'm sorry about him."

"What was he?" asked Hermione tentatively. Sirius was obviously touchy about this Kreacher, whatever it was.

Sirius' face lit with surprise. "Oh – you don't know. That was a house-elf. They're usually bound to old pureblood families – like servants." He grimaced. "I never did get along with Kreacher. I think he went round the twist when my dear old mum died."

"Your mum?" said Hermione. "I'm sor—"

Sirius cut her off. "No," he said roughly, waving a hand. "Don't be. I hated her. She would have hated you if she'd ever met you." He sighed as Hermione sent him a bewildered, hurt look and explained, "You're a Muggleborn. You come from a Muggle family, but you were born a witch. My mother – along with most of the rest of my family" –Sirius spat out the last word as if it had left a bad taste in his mouth – "was very supportive of the pureblood Slytherin ideology. Purebloods are wizards who can trace their magical heritage back through several generations.

"Voldemort and the Death Eaters – most of whom are pureblood – believe that purebloods are superior to Muggles and Muggle-borns, and that the world would be better off without so-called 'tainted blood.'" Sirius' face twisted. "'Mudblood' is a slur for Muggle-borns, and 'blood-traitor' is a slur for purebloods – like the Weasleys – who believe in treating all wizards equally, regardless of their heritage. As you can tell, Kreacher, like most of my family, believes in all of that rot." He glanced at Hermione. "None of it's true, of course. Lily Evans, Harry's mother, was one of the brightest and most powerful witches in the world, and she was Muggleborn just like you."

Pausing to drain his teacup, Sirius continued, "I had enough of it by my sixth year at Hogwarts. During the Christmas holiday, I ran away to J—to the Potters' house and lived with them till I came into my inheritance from my Uncle Alphard. My parents, of course, didn't give me anything – they'd already written me out of their wills and blasted me off the family tree. I bought a little house of my own, but it's long gone now." He looked down into his teacup, depressed. "I never thought I'd have to be stuck here again."

Hermione didn't know how to respond. "It's not that bad," she said bracingly, glancing around the kitchen that could have served as a set for a horror film. "You can leave sometimes, can't you?"

Sirius let out a bark of laughter. "I'm still a wanted fugitive, Hermione, in the magical and Muggle world. No, I can't leave."

"You can as a dog," Hermione pointed out, not even certain as to why she was arguing this point. It was easier to focus on this than on everything else that had just happened.

"Not anymore," Sirius countered, his hands curling into fists. "Wormtail has apparently gone back to his master. He'll have told Voldemort about my Animagus form. I'm trapped here until we capture Wormtail and I can be proven innocent."

Hermione had no answer to that. She finished the remains of her cold tea and numbly examined the leaves, remembering, randomly, her third year at Witsford, when Cecilia had bought her something called _The Little Tea Book_ as a birthday gift and insisted that they try to predict their futures using tea leaves. Hermione had complied, reluctantly, but hadn't believed a single word, especially after Cecilia insisted that some of Hermione's tea leaves looked exactly like a piece of bacon, and then a monkey, and then a pelican. Hermione couldn't remember now what the symbols had meant. She wondered what Cecilia would say if she ever found out the truth about Hermione's current schooling.

"Can you tell me what happened at the Burrow?" asked Sirius, interrupting her thoughts once more. "How did you get hurt?" He frowned. "Remus told me that he'd send you here early, before the Death Eaters arrived, so that you wouldn't have to get involved."

Hermione met Sirius' gaze unwillingly, her cheeks burning in shame, and described how she and Harry – no, the fake Harry – had gone flying and spotted the Dark Mark, heading straight into the battle. "He Summoned my astronomy model – a Christmas gift from one of my M-Muggle friends in London – and tried to make me take it for some reason. I don't know why. Then someone – I think Remus – made the model explode…the glass hit my hand." She gulped in some air, her body cold as she continued, "I – I tried to get to the…the fake Harry. Remus kept holding me back, but I wouldn't listen. He put something into my hand – a button, and that parchment with the address, and then I was here." She ran a finger across the dirty wooden table and studied the pattern she left behind in the dust, flicking the remaining dust off her fingers with a small cough.

"Hold on," said Sirius, his eyes narrowing. "The Death Eater tried to make you take the astronomy model?"

Hermione nodded. "He pushed it towards me. I don't know why it was so important."

"And you said that your Muggle friend from London gave it you?"

"As a Christmas gift," replied Hermione, her breath hitching in her throat."It was from my friend Daniel. He loves astronomy. He said he wanted to give me something by which I could remember him…" Hermione's voice trailed off as she remembered Daniel and Richard's distant behavior during their visit over the winter holidays. _Polyjuice Potion can turn you into someone else…_ Hermione's stomach curled. It wasn't possible...she didn't want to believe it…

"It was probably a Portkey," Sirius mused. "But I don't know how he would have stopped anyone else from touching it beforehand. And I don't know where a Death Eater would want to take you…maybe to Voldemort…"

"Wait, a – a what?" she asked, trying to keep up. "What's a Portkey?"

"Oh – it's usually a small object that looks like rubbish," Sirius replied distractedly. "The button that Remus gave you was one – that's how you got here. It transports you from one place to another within a matter of seconds. Very useful for minors, since you can't Apparate yet. But usually you need Ministry authorization to make one, unless you're Dumbledore…"

"A Portkey," repeated Hermione distantly, committing it to memory even though word felt strange and heavy on her tongue.

"We should have made one for Harry." Sirius' voice broke. His shoulders fell and he dropped his face in his hands, trembling just as he had when he'd told Harry and Hermione what had happened the night Harry's parents died. Across the table, Hermione gazed at him, her heart aching for them both.

"It's not your fault," she said softly, knowing the words were hollow and saying them anyway.

The fireplace provided little light. For a moment they simply sat there in the stifling darkness, lost in their own thoughts.

"Tuesday," Hermione whispered to herself. She remembered Tuesday well. That had been the day Sirius and Remus served Harry Firewhisky, the day Harry had started acting differently...Hermione's stomach gave a strange jolt, and she let out a little gasp. "Polyjuice"—turned people into other people, she thought quickly, and "Firewhisky"—Remus would never be so irresponsible –"Harry" – had asked her not to mention the incident –

Sirius frowned at her guardedly. "Hermione?"

"Yes…I think – it makes sense now – right?"

"Come again?"

"I – I know how Voldemort took Harry," she blurted out in a rush. "I know how he did it."

"What?" Sirius' eyes sharpened. "How?"

Hermione tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and hurried to explain Tuesday's events. Sirius inhaled sharply when she told him how the Death Eaters had deceived both her and Harry using the Firewhisky. "I shouldn't have left Harry alone," she whispered, feeling hot tears press against her eyelids. "I could have stopped them from taking him. I could have prevented the whole thing."

Sirius studied her, his expression unreadable. "It's – it's not your fault," he said haltingly, echoing her own words back at her. "You didn't know. You couldn't have known."

Hermione nodded miserably. She knew Sirius was right, but she couldn't help but heat up with guilt and shame. Her whole world had been upturned within the past hour. Her whole life – well, recent life – had been a lie. And how far back did the deception run? Had Daniel and Richard also been Death Eaters in disguise? The same two Death Eaters who impersonated Sirius and Remus, even? Then they definitely would have known that Harry couldn't hold his liquor, that he would get sleepy after drinking just a little bit. They hadn't wanted to talk to her, either, probably because she was Muggleborn. And they hadn't talked to anyone else. And to think, she'd let them stay in her house – let them meet her parents and sit at her breakfast table, introduced them to her friends…

Hermione felt as if she couldn't breathe. She'd put everyone in danger, including her own parents, and now she could do nothing to change it. She needed to call her parents. She needed to warn them. In her mind's eye, she saw the Dark Mark hovering above her parents' dental office in London, the breaking glass and screams and smoke. She couldn't bear to put her parents through that again, not when they'd just moved away from it all, not when everything was going so smoothly. "I have to…I have to tell them," she whispered, her chest heaving as she took in panicked breaths of air, "I have to make sure they're all right…" The guilt was threatening to crush her, and blackness was starting to encompass her vision. "It's my fault…"

"Hermione!" Sirius' voice came from a great distance. "Calm down, calm down –"

"I – I think I'm going to be sick," she whispered, and the last thing she saw was her own dusty fingerprint in the wood as she tipped forward onto the table.

* * *

"Argh!"

Harry's cry rang out through the small waiting room of the hospital as he jerked awake and slapped a hand to his forehead, his scar burning furiously. Voldemort was beyond angry at the moment. Harry closed his eyes, trying to make sense of the rage, but no images flashed across his vision – his scar simply blazed with pain. Biting his lip hard, Harry recalled his Occlumency lessons, and, pushing aside all thoughts of Snape, he struggled to build concrete barriers against the fire that threatened to overtake his mind and body.

"Are you all right?"

Harry shook his head, focusing on his Occlumency as the fire abated slightly. He opened his eyes, blinking back tears and meeting the sharp brown gaze of the concerned doctor peering down at him. "Sorry," he whispered hoarsely. "My – my head hurt."

"D'you want me to take a look at it?" asked the doctor, straightening up in a blur of white. "You looked like you were in an awful lot of pain there."

Harry swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, heat rising in his cheeks. "No. No, I'm fine. Could you give me the time?"

The doctor sent Harry a dubious glance. "It's ten-thirty in the morning," he answered. "You sure you're all right?"

"Fine," said Harry shortly. "I'm fine." He flattened his fringe down over his scar and smiled weakly. "Thanks."

"All right then…" said the doctor, frowning. "My name's Doctor Clellan, lad, and I'm on the third floor in room 302. You don't hesitate to come find me if it hurts again, all right?"

Harry nodded, flushing. "Yes, sir. Thank you."

The doctor walked away. Harry's face burned as the other people in the waiting room stared at him curiously. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back against the wall, trying to ignore the pounding pain in his temples and the boiling rage that jolted through his scar every few minutes. He still had another hour and a half before Uncle Vernon arrived. He just needed to make it through until then.

The ride in the ambulance had been short. Harry had nearly fallen asleep in the back, but the paramedics had kept asking him questions about Frank, and half an hour later, Harry had stumbled through the hospital doors awash with guilt, his head throbbing and his body aching from exhaustion. He'd told the paramedics that Frank had fainted somehow; he had a feeling that it wouldn't go over well if he revealed that he was a wizard and had shot Frank with a magical spell whose effects he didn't even know. As the doctors carted Frank off to the Accident and Casualty department, Harry had used the last of his energy to drag himself to the front desk and ring up Uncle Vernon, and then had staggered over to a seat in the waiting room and promptly fallen asleep.

 _I reckon I won't be getting back to that any time soon_ , thought Harry wearily, as his forehead seared with another fiery burst of pain. He choked down a gasp and hastily blinked back tears, his stomach rumbling with hunger. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around himself, squeezing tightly, trying to abate the hunger. His wand, hidden in his waistband, pressed against him unpleasantly, while those in jeans pockets jabbed his thigh.

Harry wished he had some money to buy food. He'd left his purse back at the Burrow – he'd had no need to carry it around while he was there, and he'd never had any pocket money to start with, anyway. Gritting his teeth, he fiddled with one of the dirt-stained dressings on his wrists as his stomach nearly roared its way out of his body. His cheeks flushed in embarrassment and he quickly averted his gaze as an elderly woman sitting across from him lifted her head from her magazine and looked around.

"Hello," a high-pitched voice piped up near Harry's elbow.

Harry blinked and squinted down at the sandy-haired child looking up at him inquiringly. "Er," he said, feeling unaccountably awkward, "hi."

"Your tummy's very loud, you know," said the little boy. "And you smell funny, and there's dirt under your fingernails. I don't think Mrs. Carney would like you very much. She'd give you a scolding and then make you go to the washroom, and then when you came back she'd make you sit with your nose in the corner. That's what she did to Billy Starks last week, 'cause he forgot to wash his hands before lunch. He didn't mean to forget. It was just, he managed to catch a toad near the pond and he was showing everybody. Toads are awful hard to catch. I've never caught one myself. My name's Nicholas, what's yours?"

"Er," muttered Harry, his mind spinning. "My – my name's Harry."

"Hello Harry," said Nicholas, grinning, climbing up onto the seat next to Harry's. His face scrunched up as Harry's stomach growled again. "You must be _very_ hungry. Mummy says that people shouldn't go hungry, but they shouldn't eat too much either. Is that why you're hungry now? Did you eat too much for breakfast so now you have to be hungry to make up for it?"

"I had a big breakfast," Harry replied tentatively, wondering where exactly this conversation was going. His face contorted as his forehead burned with another outburst of pain.

"What's the matter, Harry? Are you hurt? Mummy says that when you're hurt you go to the hospital. Is that why you're here?"

"Not exactly," answered Harry, blinking rapidly. "I'm waiting for someone."

"Of course you are," Nicholas scoffed. "It's called a _waiting_ room. I can spell that, you know. W…A…I…T…and then I…N…G. That part sometimes trips me up, but Mummy says I'm real smart just for knowing that it's supposed to be there."

"Where's your mummy now?" Harry interrupted, hoping to stop Nicholas before he could go on.

Nicholas shrugged. "She said she needed to use the loo. I was waiting outside for her, but she was taking _ages_ , so I went exploring. Billy Starks told me that if I ever went to a hospital, I should –"

"Nicholas Trey Pembleton!" someone screeched.

"That's Mummy," Nicholas informed Harry, as a short woman with flyaway dark brown hair barreled through the room and snatched her son out of the chair, pulling him against her.

"Don't you _ever_ do something like that again! I _told_ you to stay outside of the loo, Nicholas, why did you run off again? You nearly gave Mummy a heart attack! You and I are going to have a long talk when we get home. Don't expect to see outside of your room for a few days!" Mrs. Pembleton turned to Harry, sighing. "I'm terribly sorry. I hope my son hasn't been bothering you."

"Mummy, this is Harry," said Nicholas, squirming out of her grasp. "He's hungry. I heard his tummy all the way down the hallway!"

Harry flushed. "Er – he's exaggerating," he mumbled.

"No, he's not," another voice croaked. It was the elderly woman who had been reading a magazine. She was watching them with avid interest. "Poor lad's stomach's been calling for food since I arrived," she told Mrs. Pembleton, shaking her head. "Disturbing my reading, poor thing."

"Oh my," said Mrs. Pembleton, looking down at Harry with pity. "Haven't you any money? Or are you waiting for an operation where you're not supposed to eat for some time?"

"I – I just –" Harry's face burned, curling in on himself as his stomach growled insistently. "I…I don't have my purse with me. It…was lost."

"Mrs. Carney says we're supposed to give food to the hungry people, Mummy," said Nicholas. "'Cause most of them are home…homeless. Are you homeless, Harry?"

"Nicholas! That's very rude," said Mrs. Pembleton sharply. Her face softened. "Why don't you come with me to the dining hall? I'll buy you a spot of lunch."

"I couldn't," Harry protested, even though he badly wanted to accept. "I don't…want to impose on you."

"Oh, it's no trouble at all," Mrs. Pembleton reassured him. "In fact, Nicholas and I were just on our way to the dining hall. I'm sure he wouldn't mind some company, and I certainly wouldn't either. He can be such a handful."

"I think you should come, Harry," said Nicholas, who was bouncing up and down with excitement. "Maybe I won't even have to eat my vegetables."

A raspy chuckle escaped from Harry's throat. "I don't…I don't know…" he demurred uncertainly.

"Oh, just go on, boy," croaked the elderly woman. "Your stomach's been disturbing this whole room for the past half an hour. The sooner it's filled, the sooner we can sit in peace."

Mrs. Pembleton smiled at Harry expectantly. "Well?"

"All – all right," Harry mumbled.

"Up you get, then."

Harry tried to stand. His legs gave way and he immediately fell back down into his seat. "Ow," he muttered, trying once more and failing.

"Let me get a wheelchair for you," said Mrs. Pembleton hurriedly. "Nicholas, I want you to stay here with Harry. You're not to leave this room, do you understand me? I'll be back in a moment."

Harry watched her hair fly around the door, briefly reminded of Hermione. An ache settled in his chest. He hoped that Voldemort hadn't got to her or the Weasleys or Dumbledore. He hadn't even managed to warn them, and he had no way of contacting them now that he was out in the Muggle world. His two-way mirror was gone, and he didn't have an owl; he didn't know how to cast the weird silvery thing that Dumbledore had used. Harry frowned, trying to think against his pounding headache. Before he and Hermione had moved to the Burrow, before Dumbledore had given him the mirror, Harry had figured out a way to contact him…how had he done it? He kneaded his forehead with his knuckles, gasping as a fiery jolt lanced through his scar.

"Cor!" Nicholas' voice rang in Harry's ears, making the pounding in his head increase tenfold. "That's a _wicked_ scar." Clambering onto the chair, Nicholas peered at Harry closely, his mouth dropping open as he almost pressed his forehead against the teen's. "It's shaped like a lightning bolt!"

"Yeah..." Harry whispered, taking a shaky breath as the pain from his scar subsided.

"Nicholas, get down from there. Here you are, Harry," said Mrs. Pembleton, pushing a wheelchair toward them with a nod to the elderly woman in the room. "Let's get you in, now."

Harry avoided her gaze, his cheeks flushed, as he climbed into the wheelchair reluctantly.

"Are we going to the dining hall, Mummy?" asked Nicholas, as Mrs. Pembleton wheeled him out of the waiting room. "But doesn't Harry need to go to the washroom first? His hands are dirty…"

One rather embarrassing trip to the washroom later, in which Nicholas nearly pushed Harry into the stall instead of to the sink, Harry was enjoying the first full meal he'd had in days. Staring at the food, he forced himself not to eat too quickly as he listened to Nicholas and his mother argue across the table. He noted with distant relief that his scar was no longer burning.

"Mummy, these vegetables taste bad," Nicholas whined.

"Nicholas, hush. There's nothing wrong with them."

"But – but what if they're _spoiled_? Mrs. Carney says that if you eat spoiled food, you can get _very_ ill."

"It's a good thing we're in the hospital then, isn't it? They'll be able to fix you up right away."

"But Mummy, _Harry_ isn't eating his vegetables!" cried Nicholas, pointing a finger accusingly at the teenager.

Harry's face burned, and he quickly stuck some sprouts into his mouth.

"He is now," laughed Mrs. Pembleton.

"But…"

"No buts, young man! Eat your vegetables, or I'm not making pudding tonight."

Nicholas scowled and shoved a forkful of sprouts into his mouth, making a face as he swallowed. "Where'd you get the scar?" he asked Harry. "Billy Starks has a scar on his face, too. He said he got it 'cause he was climbing a ten-foot tree and then he fell off the tallest branch. Ten feet! That's awful high. Did you fall off a tree too?"

"Er…no," said Harry, willing himself not to flinch as he repeated the lie his aunt and uncle had told him for so many years. "I…got it in a…car crash."

"How old are you?" asked Mrs. Pembleton.

"Fifteen," Harry answered, pushing around the last pieces of beef on his plate.

"Oh," murmured Mrs. Pembleton, her brow creasing. When Harry didn't say anything, she continued, "We're here to visit my mother. She came down with a case of pneumonia last week, and she can't get rid of it."

"I'm…sorry," said Harry, unsure how to respond.

"What are you here for, then? Are you visiting someone?"

"He's waiting," Nicholas answered, nodding importantly. "He told me so."

Harry bit his lip. "I'm waiting for my uncle," he said, "but I'm…I'm visiting someone too."

When the meal was finished, Harry thanked Mrs. Pembleton and Nicholas for their kindness, and then blushed as they helped to wheel him into the lifts and into Frank Bryce's room on the third floor. "Think nothing of it," said Mrs. Pembleton, patting Harry's shoulder gently. "You'll be all right getting back to the waiting room?"

"Yes," said Harry, as he strained to wheel himself over to Frank's bed. "Thank you – thank you very much," he said, sincerely.

"Good bye, dear. It was a pleasure to meet you. Come along, Nicholas."

Nicholas waved at Harry with an open grin. Harry's heart twisted at the trusting expression on the little boy's face, and then the beeping of the hospital machines drew his attention to Frank, who was lying silently on the bed, his arm connected to the dripping IV, his heartbeat spiking slowly on the electrocardiogram with steady beeps.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, leaning forward a little so that he could see Frank's wrinkled face. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully. "I wanted to thank you before I left. Thank you for taking me in…for taking care of me. I'm sorry that you got cursed because of me and that you ended up in hospital. You shouldn't have been involved. It's my fault…" Harry's hands twisted, and he bit his lip. "I'm sorry," he repeated quietly. "And – and thank you…"

_Beeeeeep…_

Harry's head jerked at the unending, shrill sound. The electrocardiogram displayed a flat green line, a big flashing "0" on the screen. Harry felt himself go numb with shock and horror as a nurse rushed into the room. "Oh, no," she sighed as soon as she spotted Harry. "I'm sorry, dear…" She steered Harry out of the room; Harry didn't protest. "We'll take care of him," she said, trying to sound reassuring.

A group of orderlies rushed past Harry in a haze of blue and white, shouting things that seemed like mere noise to Harry's ears. He gripped the handles on either side of the wheelchair and watched as they pulled a bed out of the room, Frank's prone form blurring in and out of his vision as it disappeared down the far corridor. He was gone…

"Lad?"

Harry looked up into sharp brown eyes that were vaguely familiar. "Doctor…Cl-Cl—something," he said blankly.

"Doctor Clellan," said the man gently. "Lad, I thought you might want this. I think it belonged to your grandfather and I didn't think you'd want to lose it."

Harry blanched. "What?"

The doctor held out Frank's walking stick. Harry's mouth parted slightly and he grasped the walking stick, laying it across his lap with shaking hands. A lump formed in his throat, and he didn't trust himself to speak as he looked up at the doctor, trying to convey his gratitude.

Dr. Clellan gazed back at Harry with sympathy and then started as his pager rang obnoxiously on his waist. "I'm sorry, lad," he said. "I need to run." He motioned to a passing orderly. "Mary? Can you take this boy down to the waiting room?"

"Yes, doctor."

"It'll be all right, lad," said Dr. Clellan, giving Harry one last look before turning into one of the rooms.

The ride in the lift was oppressively short and silent. Mary wheeled Harry back to the waiting room. The elderly woman from earlier was gone, replaced by a new, different set of people. They barely spared a glance at Harry before returning to their books and magazines. Harry didn't notice. He clutched Frank's walking stick and stared in front of him unseeingly, his head and his heart numb and empty as he waited for his uncle.


	19. Tears

A deafening shrieking woke Hermione.

"MUDBLOODS! BLOOD-TRAITORS! SHAME OF MY FLESH! BEFOULING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS –"

" _Shut up!_ " roared Sirius from somewhere down below. His feet slapped against the wood as he wrenched open the front door, its hinges squealing loudly. "I'm sorry," he said, "I should have told you not to use the doorbell…"

Hermione rubbed her eyes groggily. She was lying in a massive four-poster whose dusty hangings had been drawn back to reveal a dim, musty room covered in dark green wallpaper with silver snakes writhing at the edges. A worn, dark wooden dresser and vanity sat in the corner, covered with lacy green cloth and topped off by a filthy, tarnished silver mirror with an ornate design that Hermione was certain had once been beautiful. The bedroom door was open, and she padded over to it, looking down the winding staircase.

Several people were crowded into the long entry way of the house. She could see Remus Lupin's sandy, graying hair and two shocks of orange-red, which must be Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. A tall black man that looked vaguely familiar stood near the staircase, his gold hoop earring twinkling in the light of the flickering gas lamps. Behind him stood a square-jawed wizard that Hermione recognized as Sturgis Podmore, the man who had accompanied her and Harry to Diagon Alley, who was murmuring to a short, black-haired witch with rosy cheeks and a stately-looking woman whose high-collared robe reminded Hermione of an old Victorian painting. Near the odd drapery that Hermione had passed earlier, next to Sirius, stood a tiny, elderly wizard with a violet top hat and matching robe, a young woman with violently pink hair and an open grin, and a very old wizard with long silver hair like Dumbledore's. Finally, in front of the door stood the strangest man Hermione had ever seen. He had a wooden leg, a battered, scarred face with a crooked nose topped by grizzled, dark grey hair, and a swiveling electric blue eye that scanned the room like some sort of radar system. The sole eye swung upward toward her, and she jumped, staring as the man's other eye – a normal, squinting brown – slowly moved to accompany its neighbor.

"Girl's awake," he growled to the room at large, and the rest of the adults looked up at her curiously. Hermione flushed, knowing she must look like a mess, and tried to smooth down the wisps of bushy brown hair that had escaped from her plait while she was sleeping.

"Hello," she said nervously.

"Wotcher," said the young pink-haired witch brightly, lifting an arm to wave at Hermione and knocking over something behind her in the process. It crashed to the floor with a very loud thud. "Oh, sorry –"

The infernal shrieking that had woken Hermione started again.

"FILTH! SCUM! BY-PRODUCTS OF VILENESS –"

Sirius whirled and stuck his head in between the curtains hanging behind his head. "Shut _up_ , you wretched hag!"

"YOU! ABOMINATION, BLOOD-TRAITOR, HOW DARE YOU ENTER THIS HOUSE –"

"Shut up! Shut up or I'll burn you myself!" Sirius screamed, wrenching the curtains shut, and the screaming woman miraculously fell silent.

"Sirius, I'm so sorry, I didn't know –" the pink-haired witch began.

"It's all right, Tonks," Sirius cut her off, and he snorted. "I should have introduced you. That was my dear old mum, your great-aunt Walburga. Fortunately Andromeda had the sense to stay away from her once she married your dad – and when we were kids, too."

"Can we move this down to the kitchen, Black?" growled the scarred man near the door, whose blue eye was still fixed on Hermione. "Time's pressing on us. We haven't got all day."

"All right, Mad-Eye, keep your pants on," Sirius said, running a hand through his hair. "Everyone, follow me. And try not to knock anything else over, Tonks – I guarantee that it won't be pleasant."

The adults slowly filed out of the room. Remus and Mrs. Weasley lingered behind, gazing at Hermione in concern. "Are you all right, Hermione?" asked Remus.

"I brought your things with me, dear," said Mrs. Weasley, before Hermione had a chance to respond. "Let me bring them up to your room before I go to the meeting." She started up the spiral staircase, followed by Remus, and wrinkled her nose at the room as she pulled out what looked like a tiny, miniature suitcase and laid it on the hardwood floor. " _Engorgio_ ," she said, tapping the suitcase with her wand. The suitcase expanded in size until Hermione recognized it as her own. Its brown leather was bulging at the seams. "All of your things are in there – your clothes, your letters, and your books," Mrs. Weasley explained. "I packed everything that was in Ginny's room. If I left anything behind, you can tell me and I can go back to fetch it."

"Thank you," said Hermione tightly.

Mrs. Weasley gave her a warm smile. "It was no trouble, dear, no trouble at all."

"Are you all right?" Remus asked again. His eyes fell on her hand, wrapped in white bandages stained lightly with blood, and he winced. "I'm sorry about the model. I know it was a gift from one of your friends."

Hermione nodded mutely, not certain what her feelings were at the moment. Waves of hurt and betrayal and anger were roiling beneath the surface, threatening to break her calm façade, and she wished her parents were here to comfort her.

"We'd better hurry to the meeting, Remus," said Mrs. Weasley. "Hermione, dear, get some rest."

Remus glanced at Hermione once more, his brow creasing, and followed Mrs. Weasley out of the room. Hermione watched them descend the staircase and disappear down the hall before she returned to the bedroom, shutting the door behind her. She knelt down and unzipped the suitcase, taking out a stack of jumpers, jeans, and underthings and laying them on the bed. Beneath the clothing sat a neat stack of letters from various people, mostly her parents, and tucked into the corner of the suitcase were her two favorite photographs: one of her parents and herself, beaming excitedly, and the other of herself and her friends, standing in front of her old school and grinning without a care in the world. Hermione's breath caught, and she examined the photographs, memorizing every line of her parents' faces, every upturned lift of her friends' mouths, frozen in a moment to which they could never return.

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to remember what her life had been like before magic, before the explosion, before moving. Right now, she would probably be over at Cecilia's house, revising for her GCSEs with Matthew while Cecilia fiddled about on the piano and Daniel and Richard argued the merits and flaws of the latest electronic technology. Cecilia would turn around periodically and tell them to be _quiet_ in an exasperated tone, and Hermione and Matthew would attempt to get the two boys to join them in revision with moderate success. And then Richard would ask if there were anything to eat, Cecilia would roll her eyes and go to the kitchen, and she and Hermione would prepare tea while complaining about the unnaturally large appetites of teenage boys...

Hot tears spilled down Hermione's face as the scene in her mind became so clear that she could have stepped into it. She could envision the potted plant that Cecilia's parents kept on the piano, much to their daughter's disgust; Matthew's messy scrawls as he tried to work out a difficult physics problem; Daniel's scribbled drawings of constellations and planets on the side of his English text (his least favorite class); and she could hear Richard's snigger as Cecilia played a dissonant chord on the piano (they both played piano, but only Cecilia really loved it), the subsequent thwack as Cecilia threw a pillow at him, and the shrieks and giggles and Daniel's weak protests as the entire room dissolved into a pillow fight, revisions and compositions ignored in favor of friendship and laughter and fun. Three years of a friendship that Hermione had thought unbreakable had been snatched away from her in an instant full of screams and blood and breaking glass, and now, the same thing had happened to the life she'd been building so carefully ever since she left London. Her friends were impostors, her teachers didn't trust her, and her parents were far, far away.

But beyond the aching loneliness that squeezed her heart with iron fingers, there was a deeper hurt Hermione felt – a burning, roiling anguish that rose up in her blood and caused salty tears to press against her eyelids once more. She was furious at herself for not recognizing earlier that Harry was an impostor. Of course, she hadn't known about Polyjuice Potion, she'd noticed for a long time that Harry hadn't been acting like himself. Then, he'd "confessed" that he fancied her, and she had accepted his explanation without questioning and not a little excitement, because no boy had ever fancied her before, and the very knowledge of it was thrilling. That, of course, had been a lie. The Death Eater had simply manipulated her feelings so that she wouldn't suspect something was truly wrong.

What hurt her the most, however – a hitching sob tore past her throat – was the fact that Remus, Sirius, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had all known about the impostor and hadn't bothered to inform her about it. Was she not trustworthy enough – not important enough – to know the truth, to protect herself from being used like a fool? She could have acted normally toward the impostor; she could have pretended not to notice that Harry's behavior was a little strange; she could have prevented herself from indulging in feelings that weren't even real. Hermione flinched as she remembered holding onto the impostor for dear life as he took her up into the sky. She'd never be able to feel clean again.

Something brushed against her leg, startling her out of her thoughts. Hermione sniffed and wiped at her eyes, frowning in bewilderment at the ugly house-elf who had one hand in her suitcase and a shifty expression on his face. "What are you doing?" she asked.

Kreacher ignored her, muttering under her breath. "Kreacher does not answer to the Mudblood, oh no, she who smells of rot…" He started to shuffle away slowly toward the door, but not before she caught the glimmer of gold behind his back. Hermione leaned over, gasping. The pearl necklace her parents had given her for Christmas dangled from his fist, dragging slightly on the hardwood floor.

"Put that down," she said sharply, her heart beating furiously. "Give it back to me now."

"Mudbloods do not deserve such finery, oh no, Kreacher will keep this for his mistress –"

"Give it back to me," Hermione repeated, her voice shaking as she held out her hand. "Please, Kreacher. It's mine."

"Begging will not sway Kreacher, oh no, mistress has warned Kreacher about Mudbloods…" He was inching closer and closer to the door. "My poor mistress, her house invaded by beasts and blood-traitors, oh, if she could see poor Kreacher now…"

Hermione couldn't stand it. She grabbed Kreacher by the shoulder and reached for the necklace. Kreacher let out a keening scream, writhing under her grasp. "The Mudblood has touched Kreacher, Kreacher is dirty now, dirty, dirty, what would mistress say!" he wailed, obviously distressed. "Kreacher must go; Kreacher must clean himself of its touch!"

Hermione was shocked. She released the house-elf, and he sent her a glare of deepest loathing, his fingers clenched around the golden chain. "Just – just give me the necklace, Kreacher, please," she said, trying to keep herself calm as Kreacher's ugly little fingers tightened around the chain. "It's mine. You can't go around stealing what's not yours. It isn't right."

"What's going on here?"

Sirius stood at the door, panting, his wand drawn in front of him. "Hermione? Are you all right?" He looked down at Kreacher, disgust and loathing passing across his face. "Kreacher, what did you do?"

"Kreacher did nothing, Master, nothing," Kreacher muttered to the floor. "Filthy Mudblood…" he added under his breath.

Hermione felt a furious heat rise in her cheeks. "He took my necklace, and he won't give it back," she explained in a choked voice, flushing with embarrassment. She sounded very much like a five-year-old.

"Kreacher, give the necklace back to Hermione and don't touch any of her things again," Sirius ordered.

Kreacher glowered. "Kreacher must do as Master says, Kreacher does not like it, oh no, Master is a blood-traitor who has upset Kreacher's mistress…"

"Do it now!" Sirius snapped.

Kreacher flung the necklace in Hermione's direction and slinked away, muttering, "Filthy Mudbloods, filthy blood-traitors, fouling the house with their half-breed beasts…"

Sirius' wand twitched as he waited for Kreacher to leave the room. "I'm sorry, Hermione," he said. "I wish I could get rid of him, but he's bound to me and to the house, and he might give away some of the Order's secrets, not to mention the fact that I'm here. I'm hoping he'll just crawl into the cupboard and die one day, and then I wouldn't have to worry..."

Hermione's eyes widened at Sirius' last statement, but she didn't protest. She couldn't really blame Sirius for what he felt. Kreacher was a foul little creature. She picked up her necklace from the floor, checking for any damage, and let out a sigh of relief when she found none. Then she clasped the necklace around her neck, calming a little as the pearl's familiar weight rested against her collarbone. "Thanks," she said to Sirius.

"You're welcome." He checked his watch and sighed. "I need to go back. Stay in this room – it's the safest place in the house right now. I'll let you know when the meeting's over and we're having dinner." And with that, he turned and hurried away.

Hermione listened to him leave and turned back to the contents of her suitcase. She trailed her fingers along the photograph frames, wiping away her tears, and placed them onto the wooden table next to the bed. Then she slowly began to move about the room, cleaning, sorting, and unpacking the rest of her possessions as she tried to make this new place feel like home.

* * *

"He needs to be here, Dumbledore. Harry needs to be with people who care about him – who love him!"

Sirius' angry shout echoed up the narrow stairwell as a freshly showered, freshly healed Hermione followed Mrs. Weasley into the kitchen-basement of Grimmauld Place.

"Oh dear," Mrs. Weasley clucked.

"I understand, Sirius," Dumbledore answered, "but unfortunately right now the safest place Harry can be is his aunt and uncle's house. It has protections, blood wards, that even Voldemort cannot break. There, he will be safe from harm, and his aunt and uncle will care for him. I have made certain of it."

"Care for him?" Sirius asked incredulously, as Hermione gave a little gasp. Harry was back in Surrey! "Dumbledore, do you know what they – how they treat him?" Sirius ranted. "He told me once that they'd never given him Christmas gifts until this year! Nothing but a – a coat hanger and a toothpick! After all he's been through, that house is the last place he should be!"

"I am aware of the injustices that Harry's relatives have perpetrated against him," Dumbledore said, his voice becoming a little colder. "However, I have sent someone to watch over him and to help him through the healing process. Harry will be fine. He will get the rest he deserves, and he will do so in a safe place."

" _This_ house is the safest place in the country!" Sirius exploded as Hermione and Mrs. Weasley entered the room. He was leaning over the table, his chest heaving with fury and his wand shooting sparks from his hand. Remus stood off to the side, his posture rigid, his fists clenched at his sides, a pained expression on his face.

"This house is not the safest place for Harry," Dumbledore rejoined sharply. "I will not discuss this with you any longer." His piercing blue eyes swept over the room, coming to rest on Mrs. Weasley and Hermione. "Ah, Miss Granger," he said with a nod, "It is good to see that you are doing well. Enjoy your dinner." Before she could protest that she was not well at all, he threw a fistful of Floo powder into the fireplace, stepping into the bright green flames and disappearing to Hogwarts in a whirl of smoke.

Sirius mad a convulsive movement and turned around to look at Hermione and Mrs. Weasley. His eyes were crazed and wild, and Hermione was reminded of the picture she'd seen of Sirius on the Muggle news – that of an insane, dangerous fugitive on the run. She fought the urge to step back in fright. Mrs. Weasley's hand came down on her shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

"Sirius," Remus said from the counter, his voice strained. "Sirius, you know why –"

"Don't, Remus," said Sirius roughly. "Don't even start –" He brushed past them, trembling, running up the stairs and slamming the door with such force that the iron pots and pans hanging from the ceiling rattled violently and nearly fell off their hooks. Remus turned his face away.

"Well!" said Mrs. Weasley loudly into the silence. "I had better start on dinner. Arthur will be joining us when he comes back from the Ministry. Hermione, dear, would you like to help?"

"I'll help," Remus put in unexpectedly, his smile stretched thinly across his face.

Hermione set the table for five and waited for a moment in the tense, awkward silence of the kitchen, punctuated only by the chopping of vegetables. She slipped out of the basement and up the stairs, intending to return to her room, halting when she spotted Sirius curled at the bottom of the stairwell, his face in his hands as he silently wept. "Sirius?" she said softly, her heart twisting.

Sirius looked up. His grey eyes were bloodshot. "Hermione," he said hoarsely. "I thought you were downstairs."

Hermione shook her head. She crossed the room and settled onto one of the steps, staring down at Sirius' fine black hair as she tried to find some words of comfort. Nothing came to mind.

Her thoughts drifted to Harry, who was in Surrey, and her parents who were in the same place, and how badly she wanted to be there with them and stay with them forever, even if it meant giving up the magic she'd learned. Running her thumb along the pearl hanging around her neck, she took in a deep breath as she tried to push away the lump in her throat. Sirius twisted his head slightly to look at her, his face haunted by guilt and old ghosts.

Together, they sat in silence, the flickering lamps casting shadows across the dim entry way as they lost themselves in their thoughts.

* * *

Harry's return to Privet Drive began uneventfully.

He slept on most of the way home, of course. Surprisingly, Uncle Vernon didn't complain. He even helped Harry up the stairs to his bedroom, which had been untouched since Harry had left on Boxing Day. Aunt Petunia hadn't said a word when they entered, merely pressed her lips together tightly and continued stirring the tomato stew she was cooking.

Harry shucked off his shoes and socks and dully looked around the room. He placed Frank's walking stick in the corner of the room and the three Death Eaters' wands on the desk, shuddering and grimacing as his fingers brushed against a strand of his greasy, sweat-soaked hair. He was filthy. He stumbled over to the bathroom and turned on the tap, slowly unwrapping the old dressings along his wrists, arm, and ankles as he waited for the water to warm up. The long cut along his arm had started to scab over; it was a disgusting reddish-purple color, surrounded by dried blood that gave off a metallic coppery smell. Harry hoped that it wasn't infected. He inspected his wrists and ankles; the shallow cuts along them had also begun to scab over, and one or two of them had already become pale scars. Harry sighed, stripping off his clothing. Ever since he'd discovered his magic, he'd become injured far more frequently. It was rather irritating, to tell the truth.

The water felt amazing against his sore limbs, and Harry reveled in it, closing his eyes as he washed away the pains and aches of the past week. He gently cleaned his injuries, flinching slightly as he rubbed off the dried blood along his arm, and then ran shampoo through his hair, which now reached the back of his neck. _Aunt Petunia's going to have a fit_ , thought Harry dimly. She'd always hated how fast Harry's hair grew. When he was younger, he used to get it cut twice a week, and once, when Harry was eight, she'd shaved all of his hair off except for his fringe. Dudley had laughed for hours and hours, but then Harry's hair had grown back overnight thanks to his accidental magic. Harry had been punished for it with a week in the cupboard.

He stood in the water a moment longer, enjoying the soothing warmth against his skin, and then reluctantly shut it off, wrapping a towel around himself and examining himself in the steam-fogged mirror. He was very pale, even paler than he'd been when he attended Stonewall and never went outside, and shadows stained the area under his bloodshot green eyes. There were a few spots along his chin and his cheeks, and his scar laid pale pink and innocent against his smooth forehead. Harry traced it with his thumb, biting his lip, and scowled at the cause of much of his pain. He wished he could get rid of it somehow, but Dumbledore had told him that it was a curse scar that couldn't be removed by magical or Muggle means. He was stuck with it for life.

Gripping the stairwell tightly, he made his way downstairs to the kitchen on slightly unsteady legs. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had already begun to eat dinner. They were deep in conversation when he entered, and they didn't bother to acknowledge his presence as he set a place for himself and sat down at the table.

"We received a new batch of drills today," Uncle Vernon said to Aunt Petunia. "They're going to bring in quite a bit of money. The company's been growing and growing since I took over. I might as well give myself the Best Employee award!" He let out a hearty laugh.

"That's wonderful, Vernon dear," said Aunt Petunia, her lips pinched tightly together as she grabbed Harry's bowl and dumped a very large serving of stew into it. She shoved the bowl back at Harry without looking back at him.

Uncle Vernon puffed out his chest like a male peacock in a mating ritual. "Business is great, and the company's in good shape," he rumbled with a satisfied smile. "I think we might get a new company car soon…the make on the current one is too old. It'll be a good show for our neighbors."

"Oh, Vernon, how exciting! We ought to look into getting Dudley a car as well. He'll be able to get his provisional license soon, and then I think we ought to send him to driving lessons…Mrs. Brooks from Number Eleven said that there was an instructor in the next town that did wonders for her grandson." She paused to give Uncle Vernon another serving of stew. "Did I tell you what happened along Wisteria Walk today?"

"No, no, you didn't," said Uncle Vernon, clearing his throat and darting a glance at Harry with narrowed eyes.

"Well, Mrs. Flannery's niece visited, the one from Leeds I mentioned, and she was wearing the most atrocious outfit…"

Harry tuned out his aunt's gossip and picked at the pieces of beef in his stew. It tasted good, but not nearly as good as Mrs. Weasley's meals, and he found himself missing the Burrow, with Mrs. Weasley's bustling and Hermione's easy company. He forced himself not to think about Sirius and Remus ( _traitors, traitors_ , a voice whispered in his head) and instead tried to recall the first dinner he'd had at the Burrow with Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George. Mrs. Weasley had made the most delicious Christmas pudding, and later on that evening the teenagers and gathered in the living room and indulged in various wizarding sweets. Harry could still remember the thrilling sensation of that had shot through him after he'd eaten a Fizzing Whizbee and floated weightlessly in the air.

"…and Mrs. Figg came out, Vernon, and asked me how the boy was doing." She glared in Harry's direction as if Mrs. Figg's nosiness was somehow his fault. "I didn't even think she'd remember him, batty as she is with all of those horrid cats about, but I told her he was doing just fine, thank you very much, that we'd sent him off to a special school that got him off of our hands…"

Harry remembered Mrs. Figg. She used to babysit him when the Dursleys left him at home, taking Dudley to various fun places like Alton Towers that Harry had never visited. Harry was quite certain that the first time he'd stepped foot outside of Surrey since he'd arrived as a baby was during Dudley's eleventh birthday, when they had gone to the London Zoo. He'd talked to a snake there…just like he'd talked to Voldemort's snake in the graveyard – no, he wouldn't think about that. He wouldn't, he wouldn't.

"What's the matter, boy?" Uncle Vernon asked gruffly.

Harry realized he was shaking his head at the stew, and he flushed. "Er – nothing."

"Finish your dinner, boy, I'll not have my cooking go to waste," Aunt Petunia said, her lips thinning as she glanced over at him.

Harry unenthusiastically stuck a piece of tomato in his mouth. He didn't feel very hungry. The sterile walls of Number Four, Privet Drive were a sharp contrast to the lively chaos of the Burrow, and Harry felt strangely hollow, as if something were missing inside of him.

"Have you finished yet?" asked Aunt Petunia impatiently, as he finished his last forkful.

Harry refrained from rolling his eyes and swallowed. "Yes, Aunt Petunia," he muttered as she snatched his bowl out from under him.

"Good, now go to bed," she ordered. "Hurry up!"

Harry stood up slowly and made his way out of the kitchen to the upstairs bathroom.

Running his tongue over his newly-brushed teeth, Harry pressed his face against the bedroom window, staring outside at the blurred glow of the streetlamps as he shifted uncomfortably in a Dudley's old pajamas, which were far too loose on his thin frame. It was too quiet here, too different. He missed Ron's bright orange bedspread and the Quidditch players flying around on the walls, the moonlight coming in through his window and lighting up the garden like liquid silver. He wanted to see Hermione with her endless stacks of letters, sit in the living room of the Burrow with its always warm fireplace, wanted to flip through the photograph album he'd made of his mother…

Fiery light suddenly exploded in the middle of the room. Harry gasped, diving for one of the wands on the desk and missing horribly. He groaned and cursed as his shoulder hit the edge of the chair, and he scrambled upward from the floor, reaching blindly for a wand, as his shoulder throbbed with pain. Something very red and very gold was in the center of the room; the brightness of it made Harry's eyes water. The creature flew straight toward his face, and Harry jerked and ducked, his heart pounding. Would he never get a break?

The red-gold thing, whatever it was, let out a rich, musical sound that comforted and strengthened Harry all at once. Harry slowly lifted his eyes and stared at the magnificent bird perched on his desk. It had crimson feathers, a very long, glowing golden tail, beady black eyes that were fixed on Harry, and a sharp beak that was holding a thick envelope. It chirped, hopping toward Harry, and dropped the envelope into Harry's palm. Harry opened it, wincing as the movement jostled his recently bruised shoulder, and pulled out a piece of parchment with looping handwriting. He squinted and brought the letter very close to his face so that he could read it.

_Harry,_

_This is my phoenix, Fawkes. He will stay with you with a few days while we work out your new housing arrangements. Your friend Miss Granger, along with your godfather, Remus Lupin, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and the rest of the Order, are all safe._

_I will be in contact with you soon. Get some rest._

_Check the envelope carefully._

_-A. Dumbledore_

Harry stared at the letter for a moment, then reached into the envelope and pulled out one item he thought he'd never see again: his glasses. His face broke out into a grin, and he set them onto his nose, breathing out a sigh of relief as the world finally came into focus.

Fawkes chirped again and took another step closer to Harry. Harry froze, startled, as something warm and wet dripped down his bare shoulder. The throbbing pain from his collision with the desk went away, and Harry reached out a hand wonderingly. The skin was smooth and unblemished; there wasn't even a hint of a bruise left. "Magic," he breathed, as Fawkes tugged insistently at his shirt sleeve. Harry rolled it back to reveal the clean white dressings on his left forearm. "D'you – d'you want me to unwrap it?"

Fawkes let out what sounded like an affirmative sound.

"All right," said Harry, peeling back the gauze. He watched in fascination as Fawkes' tears dripped down onto the long cut. The scabs fell off, reopening the wound and causing it to bleed freshly before the skin stitched itself back together, leaving no trace of an injury. Fawkes repeated the same process for Harry's wrists and ankles, and Harry's eyes widened as he felt the resulting smooth skin, marred only by two small, raised ridges of skin on his left wrist that had already formed into scars.

"Thank you," he said to Fawkes quietly, and he reached out a hesitant hand to stroke the bird's beautiful plumage. Fawkes dipped his head and nuzzled into Harry's touch, letting out a contented, trilling noise, and then he flew away from Harry and landed on something in the corner near the door.

Harry's breath caught in his throat as he caught sight of Frank's walking stick, and he tried to beckon Fawkes back to the desk. "Come here," he whispered thickly, trying to push back the flood of memories. "Please."

Fawkes tilted his head as if he didn't understand, and then let out a low, mournful, quavering note that went straight to Harry's heart. He felt hot tears press against his eyelids, and he blinked them back, shaking his head as he took his glasses off and stumbled toward the bed, curling in on himself under the covers. He took a deep breath, pushing away all of his thoughts. _Concrete walls, concrete barriers…_ he envisioned them in his mind's eye, taking a shaky breath as he slowly calmed himself down and was no longer at risk of bawling like a baby.

When he opened his eyes again, Fawkes was perched next to him on his bed stand. The bird opened his mouth and let out another low, quavering note. This one sounded even more mournful than before. Harry felt a lump form in his throat.

"Stop it," he whispered harshly to Fawkes, sitting up and rubbing violently at his eyes. "Don't."

But Fawkes didn't stop. Instead, he sang again, letting out not just one note this time, but a mournful, unearthly lament that took Harry's breath away as its tragic beauty enveloped him. He felt the concrete barriers against his emotions start to crack, piece by piece, until there was nothing left with which to repair them. Valiantly, he tried to hold back the onslaught of memories, his body trembling with the effort, but finally, he could bear it no longer, and a howl of misery rose up from his throat. He had enough sense of mind to shove his face in a pillow before sobs began to wrack his thin, exhausted frame.

Memories flashed across his mind, causing fresh new tears to spring to his eyes and spill down his cheeks. Frank Bryce's heartbeat stopping with a loud, shrieking beep…Frank, serving him soup, helping him walk through the pub, his throat bared awkwardly as he was used as leverage for Harry…Voldemort lifting his wand and torturing Harry, laughing coldly…the cold gravestone against his back, the ropes digging into his hands and wrists, the helpless despair as he was thrown into the cell…a giant snake, hissing menacingly as it approached Harry…kneeling before Voldemort, feeling disgusted with himself for giving in…Sirius and Remus encouraging Harry to drink Firewhisky, leading him outside, leading him to Voldemort…Severus Snape handing Harry over to Voldemort for more torture…the shock of betrayal from the people he trusted the most…Frank, cursed and controlled, destroying the telephone booth under the Death Eaters' commands…Hermione's disapproving glare as he downed a shot a burning liquid…

The scenes changed. Now he was remembering the good things…Hermione, introducing herself with a guileless smile in the unfriendly halls of Stonewall High…Hermione's warm brown eyes and teasing grin…Ginny Weasley's bright red, scented hair…playing Quidditch with the Weasleys high above the Burrow in the setting, golden sun…Sirius, tenderly pulling him close in the paddock of the Burrow, Sirius, the traitor, Sirius, the man Harry had trusted…and Remus, his gentle smile, his horribly genuine sincerity, Remus, also a traitor, traitor, traitor, and Snape, Harry's one last chance for protection, doing nothing as Voldemort tortured Harry again and again…

Harry wept for the loss of his innocence, for the child he'd once been, full of hope and dreams and resilience that had been shattered in less than a week. He'd always known that he would have to make it through life on his own, but entering the magical world had fooled him into thinking that it would be a little bit easier, that he had adults he could trust, adults who would help him, even adults who loved him. Now he knew, bitterly, that he could not rely on anyone to have his best interests at heart, even those who claimed they did. The world was full of enemies, enemies who wanted him _dead_ , and he could not depend on anyone to protect him except for himself.

The weight of this realization settled upon Harry like a smothering, heavy cloak that he could not shake off. Letting out a choked breath, he curled his knees up to his chest and dropped his face in his hands, his tears drying in the chill winter air as he shivered and gasped. In a rush of red and gold, Fawkes flew across the room, perching on Harry's shoulder and softly chirping in his ear, his rich voice filling Harry with a tender warmth. Harry stroked the burning gold feathers gently, and his breathing gradually evened out as his eyes drifted shut from exhaustion.

Golden light filled Harry's dreams. Fawkes the phoenix perched on the bed stand, watching over him as the night passed into dawn.


	20. Prisoners

_Dear Headmaster Dumbledore:_

_I don't know how to begin, but I wanted to warn you about Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Severus Snape._

Harry paused and took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut before continuing.

_Sirius and Remus took me to Voldemort by tricking me into drinking Firewhisky, and Snape_

Another pause, a shakier breath. He forced himself to keep his hand steady and wrote the words very quickly as if he were tearing off a bandage.

… _handed me over to Voldemort so he could torture me and keep me as a prisoner._

Harry paused for a moment, gripping the biro tightly, and bit his lip as he finished.

_I know you said that everyone is safe, but can you please make sure that Hermione and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are all right? I don't think they know about the three traitors._

_Thank you._

_Harry Potter_

Harry shoved the paper into an envelope that he sealed with his tongue. "Can you take this to Dumbledore?" he asked Fawkes, stroking the bird's red and gold feathers.

Fawkes trilled, grabbing the envelope with his beak, and disappeared in a burst of fiery light. One golden feather floated in the air, dropping to the floor in a graceful loop.

Harry picked it up and ran his finger through the warm barbs as he silently looked out at the placid street of Privet Drive.

* * *

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I can't tell you where we are because I barely know myself and there's a magical spell on me that prevents me from saying more. It's top secret, you see, because I'm living with a wanted fugitive (even though he's really innocent) and we're hiding from Death Eaters who want to kill us all and kill you and they attacked the Weasleys' house and –_

(Crumple, crumple, and then a crackle as flames devoured the parchment hungrily.)

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I haven't seen Harry in a week and I'm really worried. He was kidnapped by a dark wizard who wants to kill him and then a Death Eater used a potion to impersonate him, and I think Death Eaters also impersonated my friends who I invited into our house –_

(Ink spilled over the parchment, consuming the words in a sea of black. Hermione was glad.)

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I want to go home. Please come and get me so I can go home. I miss you. I think you were right, I should never have abandoned my GCSEs and come here. It was a foolish idea –_

(Scratch, scratch, scratch, crumple – and now the words were blotted with moisture, blurred like rain against a window pane. She threw the letter into the fire.)

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I miss you. I will gladly come home for the Easter holidays._

_Lessons are going well. My favorite is Arithmancy – it's like maths, but with magical properties, and I'm learning the more advanced aspects of it now. It's wonderful._

_I'm not at the Burrow right now because it was damaged by the storm – I'm currently staying in someone's house, which is why I'm using an owl to send you this letter. (Wizards use owls like carrier pigeons were used in World War I). This owl is Errol, the Weasleys' family owl. He might need to rest before you can send him back to me. He's quite old._

Hermione's heart pounded in her ears as she wrote the next line.

_Have you heard from my friends Daniel and Richard, from Witsford? I haven't been in contact with them ever since they visited the new house in December._

There was so much more she wanted to write, but she couldn't. They wouldn't understand, and she wasn't allowed to tell them.

The tip of the quill dug into the grain of the wood as she signed her name and stiffly folded up the parchment.

_Love, your pearl,_

_Hermione_

* * *

_Dear Padfoot,_

_Thank you, thank you, for Harry's birthday present! It was his favorite by far. One year old and already zooming along on a toy broomstick, he looked so pleased with himself, I'm enclosing a picture so you can see…_ _Of course, James thought it was funny, says he's going to be a great Quidditch player, but we've had to pack away all the ornaments and make sure we don't take our eyes off him when he gets going…_

Sirius tenderly brushed his trembling thumb over the photograph. "Prongs…" he whispered, watching James chase a laughing baby Harry around the small house in Godric's Hollow, "Prongs, I'm sorry…I'm sorry…"

It was dark in the house, too dark. Even as sunlight flitted through the tall, boarded-up windows, illuminating the frozen, too-bright smiles of the skimpily dressed girls pasted on the wall, shadows continued to envelop the heartbroken man at the foot of the bed.

* * *

Angry voices drifted up from the basement as Hermione started down the spiral staircase, her mind on one thing and one thing only: breakfast.

"…baby Acromantulas in the china cabinet and doxies in the curtains, Merlin knows how this house is still standing…I think there's a boggart hiding on the top floor, not to mention the house-elf heads and that horrid painting…this place is absolutely filthy –"

"I'm sorry it's not to your tastes, Molly," Sirius cut in sharply, "but I haven't _been here_ for twenty years –"

"—which is why you need clean it! You have time, Sirius, if you start now you could get it done in a week, and yet—"

"Oh, of course," interrupted Sirius, bitterness coloring his every word. "I have _loads_ of time, I've got nothing better to do than to sit around in this dump –"

"I'm sure she didn't mean it like that, Sirius," Remus said in a strained voice, "we all know how much you hate this house – but it isn't safe for an untrained teenager to stay here while all of these Dark objects are around –"

" _Harry isn't here!_ " Sirius bellowed.

Hermione flinched.

"But Hermione is," Remus countered tightly. "Or have you forgotten about her? She's only stayed here for the past two nights, and you've done nothing to make her feel welcome –"

"Welcome!" Sirius snorted. " _I'm_ the one who told her about the Death Eater impersonating Harry, I'm the one who healed her hand, I'm the one who took care of her when you sent her here without so much as a warning – you two didn't tell her a thing –"

"And I suppose you would have done a better job, letting a Death Eater stay in your home for a week!" cried Mrs. Weasley shrilly. "But no, you packed up and left at the first sign of trouble! You didn't have to withstand the sight of him every day – serve him breakfast, lunch, dinner – let him sleep in your own child's _bed_ and pretend as if everything were normal! You don't know how difficult that was, because you ran away like a coward!"

"I am _not_ a coward!" Sirius snarled.

" _PROTEGO!_ Sirius, Molly, put your wands d—! _"_

 _"_ FILTH! MUDBLOODS! TRAITOR OF MY FLESH!"

" _Damn it_ – _"_

 _"_ VILE SCUM! DISGUSTING HALF-BREEDS –"

" _SILENCIO!"_ Sirius came running into the entry hall, his wand aimed at the gap between the two moldy curtains hanging near the door. A yellow burst of light exploded out of its tip, and the only sound left in the deafening silence was Sirius' harsh panting. He glanced up at Hermione and lowered his arm to his side, his fingers clenching around his wand, and then he turned on his heel and strode away. Hermione sank down against the banister, her appetite now vanished.

She'd never felt more worthless in her life than she had the past two days at Grimmauld Place. Sirius spent all of his time ranting about the injustice of Harry's current living situation (a situation which Hermione actually envied – why couldn't she be in Surrey with her parents?); Remus spent all of his time pretending to ignore Sirius; and Mrs. Weasley alternated between Flooing to the Burrow and puttering about this house, clucking her tongue at its generally disgusting state as she attempted to set up a cleaning schedule involving everyone but Hermione. Apparently, Hermione didn't know enough yet about Dark creatures or objects she might encounter in the house, and so it wasn't safe for her to help. Hermione had proceeded to search the house for a book that would teach her about Dark creatures, only to find that the majority of the doors in the house had been spelled shut, unable to be opened even with " _Alohomora_." The only places she could access were her bedroom, the accompanying loo, the entry way, and the kitchen-basement.

It was clear that the adults still didn't trust her. And that hurt her more than she cared to admit.

Hermione took out her wand and inspected the curls of wood near the base, her words to Harry from so long ago echoing inside of her head. _"I'm not going to give up a chance to learn about magic. It's a part of myself that I've never had the chance to understand. Don't think for one moment that I'm going to let you go off and receive training while I stay here and pretend that I know nothing. I couldn't bear it…"_

But had coming into the magical world really been worth it? What was the point of being here, where all she did was fight a losing battle against suspicion, fear, and frustration? Where everyone else was better at magic, and no one cared enough to catch her up – or provide her resources with which to teach herself? Where she was nothing more than an inconvenience – an afterthought to the boy that they really wanted to protect?

Hermione shook her head guiltily, trying to push away her resentment toward Harry. It wasn't his fault that he'd ended up back in Surrey while she was imprisoned here in a secret hideout. She couldn't believe she was being so selfish.

Sighing, she quietly made her way down the entrance hall and stepped into the tense, stifling atmosphere of the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley, Remus, and Sirius were stiffly avoiding each others' gazes. Hermione piled some eggs on her place, forcing herself to eat. Her fork scraped against her plate, louder and louder with each bite she took.

The Floo roared to life suddenly, making everyone in the room jump. Arthur Weasley's head appeared in the bright green flames, followed quickly by the rest of his body. He brushed ashes off his shabby black robes as he gave Mrs. Weasley a quick peck on the cheek. "Morning, all," he said, glancing around the room.

"Is everything all right, dear?" asked Mrs. Weasley, bustling about and handing him a large stack of toast.

"I just came by to drop off some things before work," he replied between bites. "I brought the paper – you'll want to see it – and I managed to salvage some of the textbooks you were using for lessons. You're starting them up again today, aren't you?" He scooped a slightly wrinkled copy of the _Daily Prophet_ out of his pocket and set it on the long wooden table, tapping it with his wand. An untidy stack of books expanded from the middle of the front page, the book at the top teetering dangerously. Mr. Weasley caught it and held it out to Hermione. "I think this is yours," he said with a frown, "it's a Muggle book. There were some sheets of parchment scattered around it, but I'm afraid they didn't quite survive the destruction…"

Hermione stared at the book she'd used to study Arithmancy. It, like the astronomical model, had been a gift from her friend at Witsford. What if it was also a trap? Mr. Weasley was holding it and nothing was happening to him…but then, he'd also checked the astronomical model for charms and things, and found nothing…

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat, setting down the book with a look of surprise. "Well," he said awkwardly, "I'm off to work. Perkins thinks he's got a lead on the Nose-Biting Teacups, but it's up in Yorkshire…thank you, Molly," he said quickly, as he accepted another piece of toast from his wife. "I'll see you all tonight."

He stepped back into the fireplace and Flooed away.

"What's happening tonight?" asked Hermione.

"Dinner," Mrs. Weasley answered, glaring sharply at Remus, who had opened his mouth to answer. "Arthur's joining us for dinner."

"Is there an Order meeting tonight?" asked Hermione curiously. "May I sit in on it?"

"There is a meeting," Mrs. Weasley answered tersely, "but you may not sit in on it. You're not of age."

"Oh." A familiar tight, hurt feeling clenched her stomach. She took a deep breath and tried to get rid of it, playing with the single pearl that hung around her neck.

Sirius made a loud, strangled noise from the back of his throat. Everyone turned to look at him. He shoved the now unfolded newspaper toward the center of the table and pointed.

"Barty Crouch, Junior," he said hoarsely.

Hermione leaned over and peered at the pale, freckled young man whose thin face was twisted into a mad smile. A chill ran through her as she moved her attention to the headline. Something about that smile was eerily familiar.

_**Crouch Family Scandal Rocks Ministry of Magic** _

_**Death Eater Claims You-Know-Who has Returned!** _

_On Saturday afternoon, a former prisoner of Azkaban long thought dead was brought struggling and screaming into the Atrium at the Ministry of Magic. Barty Crouch, Jr., the infamous son of esteemed Ministry official and one-time shoo-in for Minister of Magic, Barty Crouch, Sr., reportedly died in Azkaban fourteen years ago, shortly after he was convicted of being a Death Eater and assisting Rodolphus, Rabastan, and Bellatrix Lestrange (nee Black) in the irreparable torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom._

_On Saturday, after being questioned under Veritaserum by Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself, Crouch, Jr. admitted that his father had smuggled him out of Azkaban one year into his imprisonment. Mrs. Crouch, the former Laurelia Hobbs, was overcome by grief at her son's fate. She and her then nineteen-year-old son took Polyjuice Potion and exchanged places, so that she died in Azkaban while her son was kept imprisoned at home under the watchful eye of his father._

_Crouch, Jr. escaped from his father's house in late November of this year. With a gleeful laugh that nearly shocked Minister Fudge into a heart attack, Crouch, Jr. claimed that he had returned to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, who was "very much alive". Crouch, Jr. also claimed that under You-Know-Who's orders, he had recently been impersonating the long-lost Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter, "right under Dumbledore's nose." (For further information about Harry Potter, see page 5, Editorial: "Where is the Boy-Who-Lived? A Collection of Sightings of the Mysterious Harry Potter")._

_Minister Fudge is dismissing Crouch, Jr.'s claims as the ravings of a madman. "You-Know-Who has not returned," he said firmly. "I assure you that once I receive true evidence that You-Know-Who has come back, I will inform the public immediately."_

_Barty Crouch, Sr., who works in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, was not available for comment about this shocking piece of news. "Mr. Crouch has been taken ill for the past two months," reported Percy Weasley, Crouch, Sr.'s personal assistant. "I, personally, do not believe that Mr. Crouch is capable of harboring a Death Eater in his home." Many will recall Barty Crouch, Sr. as the ruthlessly intolerant prosecutor of Death Eaters in the war twenty years ago. Crouch, Sr. allowed Aurors to use Unforgivable Curses on Death Eaters, making him immensely popular at the time. He was next in line to become Minister of Magic until his son was convicted of being a Death Eater, at which point he quickly moved out of the public eye. Is it that truly that surprising that Crouch, Sr. has yet another dark secret regarding his son?_

_Crouch, Jr. was given the Dementor's Kiss immediately after interrogation._

"Merlin," Remus breathed, looking across the table at Sirius, his face drained of color.

"I watched him die," Sirius said quietly, "in Azkaban."

Mrs. Weasley was clutching at her heart. Her eyes were wide. "P-Percy," she said shakily. She haphazardly moved her wand, and the empty dishes flew through the air and dropped into the sink with a loud clatter as she hurried out the door.

"Is…is Barty Crouch, Jr. the Death Eater who was pretending to be Harry?" asked Hermione hesitantly.

Sirius ran a shaking hand through his hair. "I think so. Veritaserum…it makes you tell the truth. If he said he was pretending to be Harry, then he was."

Hermione's skin crawled as she stared at Barty Crouch, Jr.'s picture, his eyes gleaming with madness. She'd taken several showers since she'd arrived here, but now she felt once more as if she'd never be able to scrub herself clean. She resisted the urge to scratch at her arms and instead pressed her palms flat against the table, taking deep breaths to get rid of the nauseous feeling in her stomach.

"Fudge is still denying Voldemort's return," Remus remarked. "That doesn't bode well for us."

"It doesn't bode well for anybody," Sirius muttered darkly, flipping to page five. "At least dear cousin Bella hasn't escaped from Azkaban yet. Merlin, look at this!"

A grainy photograph of a very young baby, his forehead smooth and unscarred, blinked up at them from the right column. "Harry Potter Sightings Across the Years," Hermione read in disbelief, skipping past the short biography at the top. "October 1, 1985, Harry Potter spotted in Surrey toy shop with Muggle relatives, source remains unknown…November 30, 1986, young Harry Potter sighted near the Leaky Cauldron…April 24, 1989, Dedalus Diggle claims to have met Harry Potter in east London while shopping –"

"I always did think that man had a big mouth," Sirius snorted.

"June 23, 1990 – Harry Potter reportedly spotted talking to snakes at reptile house in London Zoo, causing fear and panic among the wizarding community that he may be possessed by You-Know-Who – oh, he told me about this," said Hermione with a laugh. "I didn't know any wizards saw him, though –"

"Wait," Remus cut in. "He told you he talked to snakes?"

"Not exactly." Hermione's brow furrowed as she tried to recall Harry's exact words. "He made the glass on its cage vanish through accidental magic. He said he saw snake wake up, and he almost felt as if the snake understood him."

"Understood him," Sirius repeated slowly, exchanging a glance with Remus.

Hermione looked between the two men. "Is being able to talk to snakes a bad thing?"

"No," said Remus. "It's just rare, being able to speak Parseltongue, er, snake language. Salazar Slytherin, one of the founders of Hogwarts, was a Parselmouth, and so was Voldemort."

Hermione bit her lip. She didn't know what to say to that. "He didn't ever say he could talk to them," she said, continuing to read the rest of the timeline. _September 1, 1991, much to everyone's dismay, Harry Potter does not show up at Hogwarts…Harry Potter is not seen for four years, prompting rumors that he is being secretly trained and hidden by Dumbledore…December 12, 1995, Luella Crawfleet claims that Harry Potter visited her bookshop…December 17, 1995, Harry Potter spotted at Muggle comprehensive school 'Rock Wall High' in Surrey, leading the public to believe that he may be a Squib –_ Hermione paused. "What's a Squib?"

"A person born into a magical family but who can't do magic themselves," Remus answered absently, frowning as his eyes found the spot she was reading. "How on Earth did they know about his Muggle school?" He looked at Hermione. "Were you at Rock Wall at this time?"

"Stonewall," Hermione corrected. "And yes – December 17 – we were taking mock exams that week. I didn't see anything suspicious, though, and Harry didn't talk to anyone besides me and my friends…"

Sirius and Remus exchanged another dark glance. Sirius grabbed the paper and finished, "Where is Harry Potter now? Is he a Squib as some claim, or is he being hidden by Dumbledore as other theories like to suggest? With the possible return of Voldemort and a rise in Death Eater attacks, the time has come for the wizarding world's savior to step forward and take his place in the limelight. Wizards and witches, if you have any more Harry Potter sightings to report, please send an owl to Garinda Gamish at the _Daily Prophet_ , Special Correspondence Division…this is rubbish!" Sirius declared in disgust.

Remus rubbed his forehead and sighed. "They didn't get pictures, at the very least. And they still don't know where he lives. The protections on Harry's aunt and uncle's house must be very strong."

"Stronger than in this house?" Sirius raised his eyebrows.

"Sirius, don't start."

"Moony, I'm just saying –"

"Padfoot, don't." Remus' voice was sharp. "Please."

Sirius looked as if he wanted to argue, but he shut his mouth with a mutinous expression.

Remus stood and began to sort the books in alphabetical order. "You should probably keep these in your room," he told Hermione. "Why don't you bring them up right now? Come back down when you're done, and bring your wand. We're going to start with Defense today."

Hermione picked up the stack of books, staggering slightly under the weight, and started up the stairs as Sirius and Remus began a quiet conversation behind her back. She tried to pretend that she didn't notice.

When she came back down, the long wooden table had been placed against the far wall, and Sirius was gone. Remus turned and smiled, indicating for her to take out her wand.

"Today we're going to things a little differently. I've been teaching you how to cast individual spells, but not in relation to other spells. For example, you know that the Shield Charm is used as a defense against minor hexes and jinxes, but so far you've only been casting the Shield Charm by itself."

Hermione nodded in agreement.

"I'm going to teach you how to use the Shield Charm to block other spells," continued Remus. "We'll start with blocking Disarming for today, and then Stunning if we have time. Now, when you see the spell coming towards you, don't hesitate – just cast the Charm. Ready?"

Hermione raised her wand and took a deep breath.

" _Expelliarmus_!"

A red arc of light soared towards Hermione much faster than she expected. She cried out and ducked, and the spell hit the floor, cracking the dirt-covered hardwood.

"Not quite," said Remus wryly, as Hermione flushed and pulled herself up. "Let's try it again, shall we? Ready?"

Hermione nodded. _Protego_ , she whispered in her mind. _Protego. Protego._

" _Expelliarmus_!"

Hermione watched the red light soar toward her for a moment before she came to her senses. " _Protego_!" she shouted, and an orb of white light shot out from the end of her wand, deflecting the spell by a hair's breath.

"Better," said Remus. "Let's try it again."

Remus trained her relentlessly for two hours, stopping only for a five-minute break for water. By lunchtime, Hermione was sore and aching, but her spirits had lifted immensely. She could now block (and cast) Stunning and Disarming spells with ease. She just wished that someone else were here to share her accomplishments. Her parents, perhaps. Or Harry – the _real_ Harry, who she missed rather strongly at the moment. She wondered what he'd think of the newspaper article about him. He probably didn't get the _Daily Prophet_ at his aunt and uncle's house.

"…once the house is clean…and we ought to redecorate the rooms, especially Hermione's…"

Hermione lifted her head at the sound of her name. "Pardon?"

Mrs. Weasley smiled at her. "I was just saying that if you'd like, we can help you redecorate your room to something a bit more cheerful. I didn't think you'd like those snakes on the walls forever."

"An owl would be good too," Remus said thoughtfully. "You wrote to your parents and friends quite a bit when we were at the Burrow."

"She borrowed Errol yesterday," Mrs. Weasley pointed out.

"You and Arthur need Errol," Remus replied. "Didn't Arthur have some sort of Muggle telephone set up at the Burrow? Perhaps we can bring that here as well, though I'm not sure how it would react with the Unplottable Charm and the Fidelius."

Sirius let out a bark of laughter. "I'm sure my dear old mum would love that. A Muggle device in her home…I'll ask Arthur about it tonight, or Kingsley, that man's a genius with Muggle things. Lily showed me how to use a telephone once…"

Hermione smiled slightly as Sirius recounted his one and only disastrous encounter with a telephone, wherein he accidentally called a Muggle shop of a rather profane nature instead of Marlene McKinnon, a Muggle-born classmate and friend. Remus choked on his sprouts from laughing too hard, and Mrs. Weasley, though she tried to look disapproving, blushed a deep red as Sirius described his conversation with the shop's phone attendant and hastily began to clear the dishes.

 _Perhaps_ _being here isn't so bad after all_ , thought Hermione.

* * *

"…the number of attacks in the city of London has recently decreased, leading investigators to believe that the criminal gang – informally referred to as the Greeners due to their habit of leaving this particular cultish, snake-like symbol in the sky – are trying to lure the public into a false sense of security…"

"For goodness' sake, Vernon, change the channel!" snapped Aunt Petunia, violently slamming down her spoon on the table. Harry's plate rattled with the impact.

"But Petunia, dear, the Prime Minister's just about to come on –"

"… reminding citizens to continue to keep their doors locked and their windows shut, and to report any suspicious activity to this special hotline…"

"Change it!" she screeched.

"All right!"

With a zapping noise, the thin reedy voice switched abruptly to a loud, obnoxious jingle for Fruit'n'Bran cereal that rang shrilly through the kitchen.

"Where do you think you're going, boy?" Uncle Vernon tore his eyes away from the television screen to glare at his nephew, who was pushing back his chair.

Harry tugged at his collar, trying to get rid of the constricting feeling in his chest as he watched the Dark Mark slowly fade from the screen. "I'm going out," he said, placing his plate into the sink.

"Out!" Aunt Petunia scoffed. "You're not going anywhere, boy, except for your room. Now get upstairs and stay there!"

Anger and irritation flared within Harry, breaking past the torpor that had lain over him for the past two days. "No." He turned swiftly on his heel and stalked to the door, wrenching his arm out of his aunt's bony grasp as he stepped onto the pavement.

"Boy! Boy, come _back_ here if you know what's good for you!"

"Make me," Harry muttered under his breath. Without looking back, he began to stride down the dimly lit street, spots of color high in his cheeks.

He made it to the play park before his legs and adrenaline gave way. Panting, he sank down onto a nearby bench and ran a hand through his messy hair, the icy air cutting into his lungs as he watched the dead leaves scatter about the frozen swing set.

It was Monday night, one day and twelve hours since he had sent a message to Dumbledore, and Fawkes still had not returned with a response. Harry had spent two days confined to his room at the Dursleys', drifting between periods of sleep and boredom. Surprisingly, he hadn't had any nightmares, and he was grateful for that. Privet Drive was so dull that it was easy to slip back into the blank, indifferent mindset he'd had when he attended Stonewall. _Perfect for Occlumency_ , he thought dryly, as the swing set creaked faintly in the darkness. He remembered another night like this, when he'd gone out to get away from Dudley, and a wizard – then invisible, then unknown – had followed him home…Harry wrapped his arms around himself and looked around warily, hoping that there were no more unseen Death Eaters waiting to attack him. He didn't want any more surprises.

"Well, well, well, look who it is."

Harry turned his head slowly, meeting the narrowed eyes of Piers Polkiss. The curly-haired boy was leaning against the gate, alone, a tall figure blocking out the light of the streetlamps.

"Polkiss," said Harry flatly, standing. His hand moved to his jeans pocket as he felt for the wand hidden there. "What are you doing here?"

Polkiss sneered. "Easy, Potter, I just came out here to smoke a fag." He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and held it out to Harry, who shook his head mutely. "Anyway," said Polkiss, lighting a cigarette inexpertly with fumbling fingers, "I should ask you the same question. Where's that girlfriend of yours? Word at school is that you banged her up during the holidays, and that's why you both disappeared."

Harry coughed and turned his head away from the smoke veiled Polkiss' face. "She's not my girlfriend," he answered, "and I didn't get her pregnant. We both left…transferred to a different place." He shoved his hands inside his coat pockets and brushed past the other boy, preparing to leave. He was in no mood to deal with his former enemy.

"Hey, Potter! Wait!" Polkiss' nasal voice resounded in the still, peaceful night.

Harry paused and turned, an irritated glare covering his face. "What?"

Polkiss vaulted the frosted rails of the park gate and stubbed out his cigarette with the heel of his trainer, leaving little grey ashes on the pavement. "Good to see you alive." And with that, he walked off in the other direction, leaving Harry staring after him in confusion.

Fawkes was waiting for Harry when he returned to his room. He trilled softly and dropped a slip of parchment into Harry's hand. Harry unfolded it, read it, and then crumpled it into a ball, kicking it across the floor in frustration.

_Dear Harry,_

_Thank you for informing me of your concerns. Rest assured – there are no traitors in our midst._

_Please await further explanation. I will see you soon._

_A.D._

* * *

That night, Harry dreamed he was locked in the cupboard under the stairs, looking through the tiny grille that let in little slats of light. Hermione's bushy brown hair came into his range of vision, and he heard her calling out his name. "Harry…Harry…where are you?"

"I'm right here!" he shouted. "Let me out!"

Hermione gasped and peered in through the grille. "What are you doing in there?"

"I don't know," Harry snapped, panic rising in his chest as he rattled the doorknob. "Can't you let me out?"

Hermione bit her lip, and she looked behind her at something Harry couldn't see. "Dumbledore said you were safe there. I can't. I'm sorry." She turned around and began to walk away.

Harry pounded on the door. "Hermione, wait! Wait! Please!" He cursed as he hit his head against the corner of the stairs, gasping as he tumbled backward onto something soft and springy. There was grass beneath his fingertips, and, oddly enough, sand between his toes. Something was roaring behind him, and Harry turned as an ocean breeze lifted his hair. A tidal wave was rushing toward him, darkening the sky as it rose menacingly above Harry's body. He tried to run, but it was too late – the wave crashed down upon his body, and he was lifted up with the force, gasping, choking for air as salty water fell into his mouth and into his eyes. Something floated by him – a body, old and weathered and wrinkled – Frank Bryce. His eyes were wide open in terror, and at the shore, a familiar child's voice screamed for help. "Mummy!"

"Nicholas Trey Pembleton! How many times have I told you not to run off –"

Harry struggled to swim after Frank, but the wave pulled him back, twisting around him like ropes. Harry started to panic in terror. Sirius, Remus, and Snape were all holding his arms, pushing him headfirst into the water, and all he could see was bright green light as he tried to break free of their grasps. He couldn't breathe…he was back in the cupboard, and it was filled with water, and his arms were bound behind his back. He threw his body against the door, struggling to call out. "Hermione! Someone help…please! Please…"

The water rose up to his chin and filled his mouth. He gargled in terror…

A blast of golden light exploded into his consciousness. Harry shot upward, shaking and sweating, his sheets tangled all around him. It took a full minute for his tremors to subside, and he slowly came to his senses as he looked over at the phoenix perched on his desk. Fawkes chirped softly, his musical droplet of sound warming Harry like hot soup, and he flew over to Harry's bed, nuzzling against Harry's damp palm. Harry stroked the red and gold feathers gently and climbed out of bed, looking down into the street. His heart leapt in his throat when he caught sight of long silver beard, gleaming even in the dim orange glow of the streetlamps.

"Dumbledore," he whispered. "Finally."


	21. Memories

With speed he didn't know he possessed, Harry hurried to change into some decent clothing as Dumbledore approached the front door. Harry grabbed Wormtail's wand, shoving the other two into his jeans pockets, and raced past an irritable, drowsy Uncle Vernon as the doorbell rang for the second time.

"Who _is_ it?" Uncle Vernon barked, his face an ugly red color. "It is two in the _bloody_ morning!"

Harry ignored him and wrenched open the door, his heart racing with excitement. "Headmaster Dumbledore," he breathed. "Did you get my letter?"

Dumbledore looked back at Harry with an expression of surprise. "Harry," he murmured, "if I could come in…?"

Harry lowered Wormtail's wand and stepped aside, letting Dumbledore come in as he shut the door against a cold breeze that was trying to blow its way into the house.

"Boy! What do you think you're doing, letting strangers into my home!" Uncle Vernon blustered, though he stayed at the top of the stairs, a good six feet from Dumbledore's reach. He yelped and ducked as Fawkes flew down from Harry's bedroom in a blur of red and gold, landing on Dumbledore's shoulder with a satisfied trill. Dumbledore smiled and stroked Fawkes gently.

"I apologize for the late hour, Mr. Dursley," the wizard said, inclining his head in apology. "My name is Albus Dumbledore. I should have warned you that I was coming."

"Damn right you should have," Uncle Vernon hissed angrily, his gaze darting nervously to Fawkes.

"I am sorry to disturb you," Dumbledore continued calmly, as if he hadn't heard Uncle Vernon at all. "I will not stay long. I only came to retrieve Harry. You received my message, I trust?" he asked, turning to Harry with a piercing gaze.

"Yes, sir. Did you receive mine?" asked Harry anxiously.

"That I did, dear boy. We will discuss it later, but rest assured...your fears are unfounded. Do you need anything from your room before we go?"

"Just my coat," answered Harry, puzzling over Dumbledore's words. Did that mean that Sirius, Remus, and Snape weren't traitors then? Or that Dumbledore had taken care of them?

"Run upstairs and fetch it, then, and we shall be off. Mr. Dursley, a word, please."

Harry couldn't help but smirk as Uncle Vernon's face paled. He bounded up to his room and grabbed his coat, looking around for anything he may have forgotten. Fawkes' golden tail feather caught his eye, and Harry gently placed it into his coat pocket with a small smile.

Fawkes was gone when Harry stepped out of his room. Dumbledore was speaking quietly to a surprisingly mute Uncle Vernon at the foot of the stairs. "…and I thank you for taking him in on such short notice. Harry will need to return here for two weeks at some point in the year so that the protections may be renewed…ah, Harry, there you are. Are you ready?"

"There are protections on this house?" he asked curiously, as he wrapped Dudley's old, oversized coat around himself. His better one was still at the Burrow. "What do they have to do with me?"

"I will explain them in further detail later," Dumbledore replied. He held up a hand to stave off Harry's questions. "For now, we must go. It was a pleasure speaking to you, Mr. Dursley, and once again, I apologize for the late intrusion. Harry?" He opened the door and beckoned Harry outside.

"Er – good bye then, Uncle Vernon," Harry said quickly, neither expecting nor receiving a reply, and he stepped outside, shivering against the icy wind.

Dumbledore gently placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. Relief shone clearly in his piercing blue eyes. "Harry, my dear boy. It is so good to see that you are all right. Have you Apparated before?"

"Yes, sir."

"Take my arm and hold on tight, then," Dumbledore instructed. Harry complied, squeezing his eyes shut against the choking pressure surrounding him. When he opened his eyes, gasping, he was standing in front of a house that seemed to be expanding wider and wider with every passing minute, pushing its neighbors to either side with violent shakes.

"Inside, Harry, quickly now," said Dumbledore, steering Harry to the front door. It had a knocker in the twisted shape of a serpent, but no visible doorknob. Dumbledore placed his wand against it, and Harry heard the distinct click of a lock as the door swung inward with a creak to reveal nothing but pitch-black darkness. Harry hesitated, glancing at Dumbledore uncertainly, and Dumbledore nodded, placing a gentle pressure on Harry's shoulder. Together, they entered the oppressive darkness, and Harry glimpsed a long row of torches that flared with light before something came flying at him from the end of the hallway, crashing into him with such force that Harry nearly fell over.

"Harry," Hermione breathed into his shoulder. "Harry, it's really you. You're all right."

"Hermione," he gasped past the bushy brown hair enveloping his face. "I can't breathe."

"Oh – I'm sorry –" Hermione stepped back, looking slightly nervous, and dropped her hands to her sides. Harry met her eyes, and a smile broke out onto his face. It seemed that Voldemort hadn't got to her after all.

Hermione smiled back at him, her eyes shining with relief. She opened her mouth to say something else, but before she had a chance, two men emerged from behind her and joined the party in the hallway.

"Harry," said Sirius, his tone half-disbelieving. He made to reach for Harry, but Harry stiffened and stepped back, accidentally jostling Professor Dumbledore behind him. Sirius halted, anguish flashing across his features. "Harry…it's me. Sirius."

Harry's blood roared in his ears. He wanted to believe that Sirius wasn't a traitor, but he couldn't help but remember the burning of the Firewhisky as it went down his throat. His voice caught and he let out a strangled whimper, backing away as Remus took a step forward. "Get away from me," he whispered in a rush. "Don't come any closer."

"Harry…" Remus began.

Harry shook his head. "Don't!" His shout echoed loudly throughout the hallway; everyone winced.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Perhaps it would be better if Miss Granger took Harry upstairs and explained what has occurred during his absence," he said, his voice gentle.

Hermione glanced up at Dumbledore and nodded slowly. "Harry, come on," she said quietly. Harry swallowed, avoiding Remus and Sirius' gazes as he followed her down the hallway and up a long, winding staircase. "My room's on the first floor," she said, passing a landing that housed three rooms with closed doors. "It's the door closest to the staircase."

Harry bit down impatiently on the half-formed questions threatening to spill out of his mouth. "Where are we?" he finally blurted out, as they reached the second landing.

Hermione sighed and tapped the middle door of the landing with her wand with a whispered " _Alohomora_." It opened with a loud creak. "We're in Grimmauld Place," she told him, as she walked into the room and sat down on one of the twin beds. A cloud of dust went up, making her cough and wrinkle her nose. "It's Sirius' old house. Oh, look!" She pointed to the rather battered suitcase lying at the foot of the opposite bed. "Mr. and Mrs. Weasley must have brought your things over."

Harry frowned and stared at her. "What's going on?" he asked. "Why aren't we at the Burrow?"

Hermione bit her lip and looked away. "I should start from the beginning," she said slowly, taking a deep breath. "The Death Eaters had a plan. They used Polyjuice Potion – which turns you into someone else – to disguise themselves as Sirius and Remus and take you to Voldemort. After they kidnapped you, they planted…" Hermione's voice broke slightly, and she continued flatly, "They planted an impersonator in your place using Polyjuice Potion, so that no one would suspect that you were missing."

"Me?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Yes," said Hermione, nodding tightly. "I didn't know that it wasn't you. I suspected…I knew that you were acting strangely, but I didn't know why. All of the adults knew, though. Mrs. Weasley, and Sirius, and Remus…they all knew, but they didn't tell me."

"They knew I'd been kidnapped?" Harry asked in shock. He'd thought this whole time that the adults hadn't known he was missing. "Why didn't they come and get me earlier then?" _Why didn't they save me from Voldemort?_

Hermione bit her lip. "They didn't know where you were," she replied. "And Sirius said that they didn't find out you'd been kidnapped until a day after it happened."

For some reason, this didn't make Harry feel any better.

Hermione proceeded to tell Harry how the Death Eaters attacked the Burrow on Saturday, but the Order, who already knew about their plans, was prepared to fight. "Remus sent me here during the battle," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "Sirius was already here. He left the Burrow early to prepare this place as the new Order headquarters. He said he couldn't stand seeing someone posing as his godson…" Hermione fixed her eyes on a point past Harry's shoulder as she shivered. "Anyway, the Death Eater who was impersonating you is gone now. The Ministry took care of him." She turned her gaze back to Harry. "Are – are you all right, then?"

Harry nodded slightly, pushing back the memories of his abduction and the events that had followed. "I'm fine."

Hermione frowned at him rather doubtfully.

Harry attempted to smile at her. "I'm fine," he repeated, looking down at the suitcase that lay near his feet. "I'd better start to unpack. I'll see you in the morning."

Hermione stood up, an odd longing on her face. "Good night," she said quietly. The door shut behind her with a soft click.

Harry knelt down on the floor and unzipped the suitcase, his heart swelling as he picked up the wand waiting for him on top of a pile of clothing. The holly length of wood thrummed slightly as he flicked it in the air and muttered, " _Lumos_ ," emanating a soft glow that made the dank, dark room seem a little warmer. Harry rifled through the clothing and pulled out a pair of pajamas, his hand brushing against something both soft and hard underneath them. Slowly, he picked up a familiar leather-bound book, and he reverently flipped open the cover. His parents beamed back at him, dressed in all of their wedding finery, and his eyes blurred slightly as he drank in the sight. He never thought he'd see this photo album again.

The adrenaline of the night slowly drained out of him as he continued to unpack. He climbed into bed and gently set the photo album on the nearby bed stand, brushing off the dust that clung to it spiders to a web, and drifted off to sleep staring at his parents' radiant smiles.

* * *

"It's so good to see you back, Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley said the next morning, setting down a plate of delicious-smelling eggs and toast in front of him. She smiled warmly while giving him a critical once-over with her eyes. "Eat up, dear. Your aunt and uncle haven't fed you enough."

Harry flushed and thanked her as he began to dig into his breakfast, uncomfortably aware of Remus and Sirius' presence at the far end of the table. They had their heads bent over the wizarding newspaper, but Sirius kept turning his head to glance at Harry when he thought Harry wasn't looking. Although Harry now knew that the two men weren't traitors, he still found it hard to trust them.

Hermione entered the kitchen, tying back her hair into a plait. "Good morning," she greeted, taking a plate of toast and sitting down across from Harry. She glanced toward the end of the table. "Are we having lessons today?"

Remus cleared his throat. "Dumbledore will be coming in an hour," he said to no one in particular. "He wants to talk to Harry, but we can all be there."

Harry's heart lifted slightly. He had quite a few questions for Dumbledore. He still didn't know whether Snape was a traitor, for one, and he wanted to know more about the protections on Privet Drive.

"In the meantime," Remus continued, nodding toward Mrs. Weasley, "I thought it'd be a good idea for all of us to clean the drawing room upstairs. We can teach Harry and Hermione about magical creatures while we do so."

Mrs. Weasley beamed as excitement flickered across Hermione's face. Harry could not think of anything less exciting than cleaning a house – even a magical house – but he did not say so. He shrugged, ignoring Sirius' penetrating stare, and after breakfast, he reluctantly followed the group onto the first landing.

"Now, from what I know, there are doxies in the curtains," said Mrs. Weasley, as Harry peered through the large ornate windows that overlooked the abandoned street in front of the house. "And the cabinets are filled to the brim with Dark objects – we'll have to be careful when handling those…"

A faint rattling caught Harry's ear. He turned his head curiously and found that the top drawer of the writing desk was shaking a slightly. Shooting a furtive glance at the others, who appeared to be donning masks and grabbing bright green spray cans from Mrs. Weasley, he drew his wand and tapped the drawer with it. The rattling became more insistent, and Harry stepped back, frowning. Then, on impulse, with his head and heart screaming at him that he shouldn't, he reached out a hand and pulled open the drawer.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then cold, high-pitched laughter rang through the air, and Harry dropped his wand in terror as scarlet-slitted pupils burned into his eyes and a thin, lipless mouth curved upward. "You thought you could escape me, Harry?" asked Voldemort, lifting his wand with long, thin fingers. "I will make you pay, and by the end, you will be begging for mercy –"

Someone forcefully knocked Harry toward the ground, and Voldemort's pale form swirled and re-formed into a dark, towering, hooded figure whose very presence chilled Harry to the bone. Harry heard a distant screaming, and he blindly groped for his wand as the room was plunged into darkness.

" _No…no…please not H—"_

A bright, blinding orb flashed across his vision. Harry squeezed his eyes shut against the brilliance of it. Seconds later, he felt himself being pulled up roughly, and he opened his eyes to find himself face to face with a very angry Remus Lupin.

"What were you thinking, Harry?" asked Remus furiously. Sirius, who had been on the floor next to Harry, silently handed Harry his wand; Harry's fingers curled around it as his face burned with shame.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, unable to meet Remus' eyes. "Wh-what was that?"

Remus sent him a hard glare, and then he seemed to deflate with a sigh. "That was a boggart," he explained. "It's a magical creature that takes the form of your worst fear – such as Voldemort, in your case, or a full moon, in mine. The best way to get rid of it is laughter – to turn your fear into something comical. However, given the situation, I used a more advanced spell called the Essence Charm – I sent laughter at it as a form of magical energy. Do not do that again, Harry," he said firmly, and something in his tone made Harry look up. "Do not open something without letting us know. There could have been something much more dangerous inside of that drawer, do you understand?"

Harry nodded, his face still flushed with shame.

"Remus?" called Hermione hesitantly from where she was standing at the doorway. "What was that second – thing – that the boggart turned into?"

"A Dementor," Sirius replied hoarsely. "One of the guards of Azkaban. My worst fear."

A heavy silence descended upon the living room. Harry stared at the blackened carpet, his heart clenched with guilt. A hand landed on his shoulder suddenly and he jumped, looking up into Sirius' concerned face. "Are you all right?" asked Sirius.

Harry nodded, trying to avert his gaze. "So…this is your house," he said, the words clumsily rolling off his tongue.

Sirius' eyes darkened. "My mum's house, yes. Look, over there." He pointed past Harry's shoulder, and Harry twisted around, catching sight of a large, worn tapestry covering the entire wall. "That's the Black family tree. I expect dear old mum blasted me off of it. Let me check." He made his way to the tapestry, and Harry followed him curiously, noting the large, imposing _TOJOURS PUR_ sewn across the top. "'Always Pure,'" Sirius explained with obvious disgust. Oh, yes," he sighed, running his finger along a charred hole towards the bottom of the tapestry. "She blasted me off of it."

"Why did she do that?" asked Harry, as he traced Sirius' genealogy with his index finger. "Regulus," he murmured. "You had a brother?"

"Mum hated me when I stopped believing in her pureblood ideals," Sirius answered. "Those are the ideals Voldemort supports – that magical blood is superior to non-magical blood, that pure-blood wizards are better than Muggle-borns. It's all rubbish. Mum was never a Death Eater, though; Voldemort came after her time, and he wasn't high-class enough for her. My little brother Regulus, however," and his tone became considerably colder here, "signed up for the Death Eaters as soon as he was able. He got killed when he tried to back out. Probably found out that the tasks his _master_ set him weren't all fun and games as he expected."

"I'm – sorry," said Harry awkwardly.

Sirius waved a hand, continuing to trace along the lines of the family tree. "Cousin Bellatrix," he said, snorting. "She's insane. She's in Azkaban now, and the world is better off for it. Narcissa is her sister; her son, Draco, goes to Hogwarts."

"Draco Malfoy," Harry recalled. "Ron's mentioned him."

Sirius nodded. "The Weasleys don't get along with the Malfoys at all. Can't say I blame them. The Malfoys – Lucius Malfoy, at the least, is Voldemort's right-hand man, and his son Draco is full of that pureblood philosophy, or so I'm told. Narcissa was always a snob, even when we were children." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "The only good person to come out of that family was Andromeda." He pointed to the charred hole in between Bellatrix and Narcissa's elegantly scripted names. "She was always my favorite cousin. She married a Muggle-born named Ted Tonks after she finished Hogwarts. The family wasn't too pleased about that."

"Who was that?" asked Harry, pointing to a charred hole in between the names of Sirius' and Andromeda's parents.

"That would be Uncle Alphard," said Sirius with a grin. "He gave me money for a flat after I finished at Hogwarts, since I'd already run away to live with the Potters by then. He also left me some money in his will, which probably made Mum very angry. I was, as she put it, a 'disgrace to the Black name.' My parents disowned me when I ran away." Sirius ran a hand through his hair with a bitter sigh and turned to the adjacent wall. " _Alohomora_ ," he muttered, tapping his wand against one of the large cabinets along the wall; the double glass doors unlocked with a squeaky click. "Let's sort through the rubbish here," said Sirius, indicating the many trinkets and vials located on the filthy wooden shelves. "Be careful – I'm sure there are plenty of nasty traps."

Harry picked up a vial of blood-red liquid, grimacing at the gritty dust that attached to his fingertips. "What is this?"

Sirius glanced at it and made a face. "I don't know. Throw it out."

"How?"

Sirius plucked the vial from Harry's fingers and considered it carefully. " _Evanesco_ ," he said slowly. Nothing happened. "Oh, of course," he muttered. "Here –" He conjured a large wooden box and set it down on the carpet. "Put the rubbish in there for now." Reaching into the cabinet, he pulled out two silver goblets imprinted with an elaborate crest along with a piece of green velvet cloth that had seen better days. He threw all the items into the box, coughing slightly as dust went up his nose. Behind him, Hermione, Mrs. Weasley, and Remus began to spray the curtains with the bright green cans Harry had seen earlier.

Harry reached into the cabinet and pulled out a heavy gold locket with the letter "S" laid upon it with glittering green stones. Remembering Remus' warning, he waited until Sirius had moved a few tarnished brooches into the box before clearing his throat. "Er, Sirius?" Sirius whipped around, startled. "Could you open this for me?"

Sirius frowned as he examined the locket. " _Alohomora_ ," he muttered, tapping it with his wand. The locket remained closed. Sirius sighed and tried to pry it open with his fingers, shaking his head in frustration. "Just another useless trinket," he told Harry. "Toss it."

Harry shrugged and started to put it in the box, but a loud croaking sobbing came from around the corner, and something hurled itself toward Harry's ankles. Harry stumbled and tripped, falling hard on the carpet, as a tiny, repulsive creature began to pull at the locket that he clutched in his hands.

"You shall not take Master Regulus' locket, oh no, oh no! Kreacher is a bad house-elf, Master Regulus' locket must be kept safe, Kreacher will not fail Master Regulus!"

" _Kreacher_!" Sirius roared. The spraying of the curtains stopped abruptly as the others turned toward the source of the commotion. "Kreacher, get off of him! Now!"

The creature stared up at Sirius with the utmost loathing and clambered off of Harry, bowing so low that its bulbous nose and white tufts of hair touched the floor. "Kreacher must listen to Master, yes, yes," he muttered, "but Kreacher will not fail Master Regulus, he will never fail…filthy half-blood touching Master Regulus' locket, oh yes…"

"Kreacher, take the box right and get rid of the items in it," Sirius ordered tightly. "Don't even think about stealing anything from it. The items are to be thrown out of this house."

"Yes, Master," Kreacher muttered, still sending Sirius a look of utter loathing, and he snapped his fingers and shuffled out of the room, the box hovering behind him.

Sirius let out a breath of frustration. "That was my house-elf," he explained, turning back to Harry. "House-elves are like servants in the magical world. They're bound to specific families – usually the old pure-blood families. Kreacher's lived in this house his whole life. He's still devoted to my mum, and clearly to my brother, though they're both dead." Sirius examined the locket again, curiously. "S for Slytherin, I expect," he said, drawing back his fingers as if the trinket burned him. "We won't have any use for that." He smirked. "Maybe we should give it to Snape."

Harry's eyes widened at the mention of Snape, and he debated whether or not he should tell Sirius about Snape's betrayal. Dumbledore had said that Harry had nothing to worry about…perhaps, like with Sirius and Remus, it hadn't really been Snape who was at the graveyard, but a Death Eater in disguise, meant to trick and confuse Harry. With a shrug, Harry tossed the locket into another wooden box Sirius had conjured and continued to help Sirius pluck items out of the cabinet. Hermione, Mrs. Weasley, and Remus resumed their spraying.

An hour later, they trudged downstairs to the large basement that served as a kitchen, awaiting Dumbledore's arrival. Mrs. Weasley taught Harry and Hermione a Cleaning Charm – _Scourgify_ – in order to rid them of the dust and grime from the drawing room, and shortly afterward, the Floo roared to life, and Dumbledore stepped out of the fireplace, using one hand to brush ash off of his brightly colored robes.

"Good morning," he said, withdrawing something from inside his robes. It looked like a large basin with carvings along the side, and the top of it was covered with a heavy black cloth. "This is a Pensieve," he explained to the two teenagers in the room. "It stores thoughts and memories. I often use it to look for patterns and links that I may have missed."

"What do you mean by thoughts and memories, sir?" Hermione interrupted. "Do you mean that you can – you can take memories _out_ of your mind?" she asked in disbelief.

"That is precisely what I mean, Miss Granger," replied Dumbledore. "Though, a faint shadow of the thought will always exist in your head. You will know that an event occurred in your memory, but the emotions and feelings associated with it – as well as the details of the memory – will be extracted."

"What are we going to use the Pensieve for, sir?" asked Harry excitedly. He would love to get rid of the memories of Voldemort and torture.

Dumbledore sent Harry a penetrating glance. "We are going to use it on you, Harry, to obtain an account of what happened during your abduction. I must warn you, however – we will need to put the memories back into you after viewing them." He held up a hand as both Harry and Sirius opened their mouths to protest. "It will be very painful and very difficult, but you will be a better person because of it. When you remove those experiences, you remove a part of your own character, which can lead you down a dangerous path similar to Voldemort."

Harry's heart dropped, but he knew he had no choice in the matter. "Then – how do we extract my memories, sir?" he asked, dreading the answer.

"Do you remember what Professor Snape taught you about Occlumency, Harry?"

Harry nodded.

"Take out your wand and place it to your temple. Visualize whatever barriers you have formed in your mind for Occlumency, and then imagine a hole in those barriers – a path, leading directly to your wand. Focus on siphoning your memories into that pathway, into the wand, until you have finished. Close off the pathway, re-form your barriers, and remove your wand from your temple. Your thoughts will appear as a silvery strand which you then place into the Pensieve." Dumbledore lifted the cover of the Pensieve. Silvery-white liquid thoughts shone brightly from within the basin. "Are you ready?"

Taking a deep breath, Harry tried not to let his fear show on his face as he nodded. Everyone was staring at him, and he tried to ignore the prickling of his skin as he closed his eyes. His arm felt like a dead weight, and it shook as he lifted it to place his wand at his temple.

 _Are you ready to die, Harry?...BEEP…drop the wand, Potter, and the Muggle won't get hurt…serve me…willingly…beg for it, Harry…_ The thoughts and memories he'd been pushing back for days came crowding to the surface, and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly as he struggled to maintain control of them. _He was helpless and tied up and gagged and Snape wasn't going to save him and he was lying in the cell, being dragged down a stone hallway…the wind was blowing his fringe into his face as he struggled through town and then he was crying, sobbing in his bedroom at Privet Drive_ – Harry wrenched himself away and forcefully walled in the thoughts in with concrete barriers, and then, gritting his teeth, began to carve a hole in the wall just as Dumbledore instructed.

His arm was trembling. Gripping his wand more tightly, his fingers slick with sweat, he concentrated on the smoky stream of memories and slowly willed them toward the hole in the barrier. Fragments of memories passed by, and he tried not to hear or see or feel them they were sucked in by the bright red and gold glow that signified the tip of his wand. He could see the veil of smoke thinning…he was almost done….finally, finally, there were no more thoughts left, and he hastily blocked off the hole in his barriers. He was done…

Harry opened his eyes. To his amazement, a thick, glowing strand of silver liquid-gas was hanging from his wand. Cold sweat ran down his back as he touched the strand to the Pensieve and watched it meld with the rest of the shining contents. His heart pounded in his ears, but he felt strangely detached and calm. "Now what, sir?" he asked Dumbledore, his voice sounding dull and flat to his own ears.

"Now," said Dumbledore, glancing at the party assembled at the table, "we go in."

* * *

_"Crucio!"_

Hermione gasped in horror as she watched Harry fall to the ground, screaming in agony. Next to her, Mrs. Weasley dabbed at her eyes, while Remus' face drained of color and Sirius clenched his fists at his sides. Dumbledore's expression was one of muted pain, and Harry himself looked as if he were about to be sick. His memory-self was now struggling to his knees, rearing back, terrified, from the head of Voldemort's giant snake, and – _hissing_? Mrs. Weasley gave a little gasp, and then flinched as Harry was hit once more with the Cruciatus Curse. Hermione wished she could block out the noise, but her arms felt paralyzed; she could do nothing but stand and listen.

In the memory, a Death Eater stepped forward, and Hermione was startled to recognize the low, sneering tone of Professor Snape, who tutored Harry in Occlumency. Sirius let out a growl of rage as Snape presented Voldemort with an offer of Harry's servitude rather than death, trembling as a Death Eater dragged Harry up a long and winding staircase and pushed him into a room with flickering shadows. "Malfoy…" Sirius hissed hatefully, and then he roared in fury as a fat, balding man emerged from the shadows. " _Wormtail!_ "

"Sirius," Remus said sharply, attempting to glare at the man. Instead his expression became more anguished as Voldemort taunted Harry, forcing him to his knees. They watched as Harry was subjected to the Imperius Curse and Cruciatus Curse successively, each time refusing to give into Voldemort's sick demands.

" _If you are obedient enough, I may even spare the life of your Mudblood girl, Hermione…"_

Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she took in the horror and shock on memory-Harry's face. She chanced another glance at the present Harry and found that he was flinching violently as he watched himself being dragged back to the cell.

And now memory-Harry was knocking over Wormtail and running, escaping…blackness hit the scene for a moment, and a kindly old man with a weathered face was telling Harry to eat, taking him through a small town – Little Hangleton – and to the pub…irritation splayed across Harry's face as the people in the pub gave him pitying glances…and the anger turned into horror as the old man tried to kill him in the telephone booth…he ducked frantically as glass sprinkled above his head, confusion and horror flashing in his expression as he realized the man was cursed…Death Eaters, invisible Death Eaters had the old man by the neck…

"Malfoy again," said Sirius furiously.

Memory-Harry whirled around in a burst of adrenaline – " _Stupefy! Expelliarmus! Stupefy! Stupefy! Expelliarmus! Stupefy! Stupefy!"_ And he dropped to the ground, gathering the wands that lay strewn around him…

Harry was in the hospital now, crumpled in a chair and grasping his arm, letting out a cry of pain as he clutched his forehead…The old man – Frank Bryce – was being wheeled down a corridor…a mother and her child bought him lunch _"how many times have I told you not to run off!"_ …and then he was sitting in Frank Bryce's room, guilt tearing him apart as he apologized for his condition…and a loud beep penetrated his consciousness and he stared uncomprehendingly for a moment before shaking his head in denial….

Mrs. Weasley sniffed loudly as the scene shifted.

Harry was dully looking out of a car window, passing a row of identical houses and trudging back up to his bedroom in Surrey. There was a phoenix, Fawkes, and a note from Dumbledore, and Harry was shaking, his face in a pillow…

"I think that is enough," Dumbledore said quietly. "Let us remove ourselves."

Hermione closed her eyes and forcibly pulled herself out of the Pensieve, feeling the world spin under her feet as she attempted to regain her ground. She sank down into a hard wooden chair, taking stock of everyone around her. Remus' face was still drained of color, while Sirius' was the opposite, was suffused with a terrible rage so red that Hermione feared he might explode. Mrs. Weasley's eyes were red and shining with unshed tears, while Dumbledore was gazing at Harry with equal parts grief and sorrow.

Harry himself had a deadened look in his eyes. Hermione felt her heart break at his expression, and without thinking, she reached for his hand, which felt like ice against her palm. Harry's eyes flickered. He jerked away, startled, and stumbled into Sirius, who steadied him by the shoulder.

"Now you've seen them," said Harry tonelessly. "Are you going to put them back in?"

"Soon," Dumbledore answered, his voice gentle, "but not right away. Do you still have the wands, Harry, from the Death Eaters?"

Harry nodded robotically. "They're upstairs in my room. Should I go and fetch them, sir?"

"That would be excellent, dear boy. Remus, Sirius, do you mind accompanying him? We shall wait in the meantime."

Sirius nodded jerkily and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, leading him up the stairs. Remus followed. Hermione watched them go, tears filling her eyes as she observed Harry's mechanical gait.

"That poor boy," Mrs. Weasley said, her voice shaking. A tear trickled down her cheek.

Dumbledore looked away silently, his expression pained.

They sat in the stifling gloom of the basement for what seemed like hours before Sirius, Harry, and Remus re-entered the kitchen. "Here they are," said Remus, setting down three wands onto the table.

"Thank you, Remus." Dumbledore considered the wands speculatively for a moment, and then reached for them and put them inside of his robes.

"What are you going to do with them?" asked Hermione. "Are you going to turn them in as evidence and convict the Death Eaters?"

All eyes turned toward Dumbledore, who shook his head grimly. "Lucius Malfoy is too well connected to the Ministry. I will keep them under my protection at Hogwarts."

"We could use Wormtail's wand to clear my name," Sirius argued, still looking ready to explode.

"It's no use without Wormtail himself," Dumbledore countered. "In addition, the Ministry is not likely to clear your name in its current state. Cornelius is doing everything he can to find a scapegoat on which to blame his problems. You would be far too easy a target."

Sirius' fists clenched, but he said nothing.

"But –" Hermione protested. Dumbledore turned to her inquiringly. "What if we used Harry's memories in the Pensieve? It's clear that Wormtail's alive in them, and that Malfoy is a Death Eater – and that Sirius isn't one, since he wasn't at the meeting that Voldemort called."

Dumbledore's gaze was assessing as he addressed her. "That is a bright idea, Miss Granger. The problem is that currently, the Ministry does not know of Harry's whereabouts, and I prefer to keep it that way."

"If Fudge – the Minister – ever got a hold of Harry, we'd be in serious trouble," Remus said darkly. "He'd try to use Harry as a political tool as soon as he could."

Hermione bit her lip, frustration bubbling up inside of her. She just wanted to do _something_ to help them. Sirius was innocent and on the run, and the Death Eaters who had let Harry be tortured were free and respected…it wasn't fair. It wasn't just.

Harry, who had been staring at the floor the whole time since entering the kitchen, looked up blankly at the sound of his name. "Sir," he said dully. "Was that really Snape in the graveyard?"

Sirius seemed to perk up at this and looked at Dumbledore expectantly. Hermione was reminded of a dog waiting for its master.

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "It was Professor Snape, yes."

"That traitor," Sirius spat. "I knew it."

"Severus saved Harry's life," Dumbledore reminded Sirius, his tone of voice firm and slightly angry. "He did it at great risk to himself; he had no way of knowing whether Voldemort would take to his suggestion or kill him for it."

"He turned me over to Voldemort," Harry pointed out flatly. "He didn't try to help me escape."

"But he did come back and inform us of your location as soon as Voldemort dismissed him," Dumbledore replied. "We were preparing to come and free you, but," he said, smiling slightly, "you seem to have taken care of that yourself."

Harry's face twisted oddly. He looked away.

"I am going to put the memories back now, Harry," said Dumbledore quietly. He took out his wand and prodded the depths of the Pensieve; Harry's face floated to the top. "Close your eyes, and please try to relax."

Harry complied, his face crumpling in pain and anguish as the memories traveled back into his mind. He let out a stifled sob, stumbling backward and wrapping his arms around himself tightly as the process continued. Mrs. Weasley gently pushed him into a chair.

When Dumbledore finally removed his wand, Harry opened his eyes slowly and looked up, his green eyes glimmering in the dim light of the kitchen. His glance darted from person to person before coming to rest at his feet.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, "look at me."

Harry unwillingly lifted his gaze.

"Harry," Dumbledore said gently. "You were exceptionally brave in the face of your enemy, and you have extraordinary willpower that would most certainly make your parents proud were they alive today." Harry made a small strangled noise at the back of his throat. "I ask that you continue to demonstrate the same strength that we saw in those memories. I know you have the capacity. Contrary to what Voldemort said, I do believe in you and your abilities. You have far exceeded my expectations within these past few months, and I cannot express how proud I am of you at this moment."

"We are all proud," Mrs. Weasley agreed, stepping forward. She looked as if she were resisting the urge to pull him into a hug.

Sirius' hand came down on Harry's shoulder, and he squeezed gently. "You've done well," he said hoarsely. "James and Lily would be proud."

Harry blinked rapidly and nodded, dropping his eyes to the floor again as he swallowed. He seemed to be shaking. Hermione hesitantly reached for his hand, and to her surprise, he uncurled his fingers from his palm and let them rest in between hers. "Let's go upstairs," she said softly. With a nod from Dumbledore, she led Harry up the staircase to his bedroom and watched as he kicked off his shoes and then curled up on the bed, turning away from her to face the wall. Hermione sat down next to him and gently stroked his soft, messy hair as he let out a few hitching breaths. Each sound made Hermione's heart break a little more, and she turned away for a moment to regain control of her tears.

Leaning forward, she sucked in a breath as she caught sight of a photograph of Harry's parents on their wedding day. Harry's mother was gorgeous, her long red hair curling around her gold-threaded white robes, her green eyes – Harry's eyes – exuding joy even through film. Harry's father, who looked just like Harry except for his eyes, had a laughing smile that Hermione had never seen on Harry's face. He had one arm wrapped around his new wife's waist, while the other kept reaching up to brush his ruffled hair out of his face.

Hermione turned back around as she felt Harry shifting behind her. He was scrubbing at his eyes as he attempted to sit up. Slowly, he reached past her for the photograph album, scooting over to one side of the bed so that she had room to sit. She hesitated for a moment and then climbed in to sit next to him, reaching up one hand to stroke his hair as he flipped through the album. Harry inhaled sharply and seemed to sink bonelessly into the bed.

"Thanks," he whispered.

Hermione smiled slightly. "You're welcome," she said softly.

**Author's Note:**

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> 
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